Warlock of Omaha Cubed
by Hemaccabe
Summary: The Warlock of Omaha has tasted many of the pleasures of life, and by many standards, is a very lucky man. However, it's now time for him to realize that many of these pleasures have terrible costs that can't be measured in dollars. Will he have what it takes to pay the price?
1. Chapter 1

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **By Hemaccabe**

 **Chapter 1: There is a time**

It was the best of times. It was the most awkward of times.

On the good side, Tamar and I were married. The ceremony went so well.

In the Jewish faith, in modern times, the rituals of marriage are very similar to what everyone else does. The man gets down on one knee and asks the woman to marry him while proffering a large diamond ring. Assuming the woman says, "Yes," after a reasonable period of engagement, there is a wedding ceremony.

I had changed that a bit. Tamar, by her own description, was a two-hundred-year-old girl. As such, she likely had a more traditional view of how weddings should be done. The old way was to begin with what I had done when I gave her the ring, begin a betrothal. The betrothal is more than an engagement, but still not a complete wedding. However, it is more binding. To dissolve a betrothal, a divorce would still be required. Nowadays, the betrothal is typically done as part of the wedding ceremony. In Tamar's youth, it would have been how people became engaged.

I also made the conscious choice NOT to use a diamond. Diamonds are a very recent addition to the engagement ritual. Diamonds as engagement rings were a successful DeBeers marketing campaign. The idea of wasting a large sum of money on a diamond, a stone that is artificially rare, is very new. DeBeers keeps mountains of diamonds in vaults making them seem far more rare than they really are. If diamonds traded normally, they would likely only be semi-precious stones. This is compounded by the fact we live in an era when diamonds and other "precious" stones can be mass manufactured. Apple is working on making the screens of their devices from sapphire! In a few years the windows of one's home and car will be made of diamond. The idea that there is any long-term investment value for gemstones is laughable.

Still, if it would have made Tamar happy, I would have bought a great big chip of glass-like material for her. I had been buying synthetic sapphires for my lenses. It might be worth investing in a gem foundry. Then I could make Tamar a diamond as big as her head. Tamar, however, was born before the time when diamonds were considered part of the ritual, so she wasn't into it.

We had discussed it.

"I suppose it would be nice to be able to show the other girls a big rock, but then I would have to wear it. That would be a chore." She had said.

"Don't turn the stone down because you don't think I value you. If you want it, even a little, I wish to get one for you." I replied, worried she was only turning the diamond down to be polite, not because she didn't want it.

We resolved the quandary by Tamar letting me take her jewelry and shoe shopping. Anything she liked, she got, and she liked a lot. I was happy to pay for it. Malashock's, Borsheim's and Von Maur all had banner sales months.

Tamar also wanted a Glock 27, it would be less of a burden to carry around then her current carry. So, I acquired the gun, did my breathing on it while making sure I didn't increase the size in any way. That was a new challenge. When I had breathed on all my other guns, if I expanded them a few millimeters here of there, not a big deal. Tamar wanted to downgrade from her Glock 23 because this gun would be smaller and easier to hide while not giving up her svelte figure. Tamar knew the time it would take me to do this was a bigger sacrifice than a big diamond. Still, when I was done, I embedded a big, flawless, perfectly clear 3 carat synthetic diamond in the trigger guard.

Since the betrothal is part of the modern ceremony we had to modify the current normal ceremony, but that wasn't a big deal. Tamar and I didn't have a lot of family to invite so we invited the community and they came. Jake was my best man, Travis was my groom's man.

Tamar had Kelly as her Matron of Honor and Brenda, Miranda and Diane as her bride's maids.

One part of the ceremony was a bit awkward. In a typical Jewish ceremony, the father and mother walk the bride and groom down the aisle. Tamar and I both had no living relatives. My lawyer, Jim, and his wife took on the task of walking me down the aisle. The Rabbi's wife, Rebbetzin Kaitzman, walked Tamar down the aisle.

It was a beautiful ceremony. All my girls came. Holly came back from Guam again, she now had an awesome tan. Lina and Stacy also came. While Jake and Travis had thrown me a good time at the local Hooters, the girls all threw me a much more licentious party in the home theater as well. I would be cooling things down, but I also felt like the girls all deserved fitting good-byes.

Tamar and I stood beneath the traditional wedding canopy and I signed the marriage contract and gave it to Tamar. Tamar walked around me seven times, marking her territory. We drank the wine. I smashed the crystal goblet.

Smashing the goblet is something we do to show finality and commitment. Also, to demonstrate, even in our happiest moment, that we remember that we remain in spiritual exile. That we remember the sadness of others.

I had already started the process of cooling things down. I had let my Chicago attorney go. While she had never shown much emotion, just as I was letting her go, I suddenly sensed she had been thinking of making our relationship something more. Perhaps I had been her back up plan, but I would be her back up plan no more.

I let Holly, Lina and Stacy know we would always be friends, but the sexy fun part was coming to an end. I was basically shutting the garret down. I was done fishing.

This was as much about Tamar as it was Brenda.

The pregnancy with Brenda was a tragedy.

"Weren't you on birth control?" I asked.

"Yes, but no form of birth control is 100%." She replied flustered.

That was true, considering the amount of unprotected sex I was having and the number of women I was having it with, that something like this hadn't happened before was already defying the odds.

"Are you going to keep it?" I asked.

"Yes." She replied, clearly worried I would disapprove.

"Do you plan to put it up for adoption?" I asked.

"No."

"You wish to raise the child?" I asked.

"Yes."

If I commandeered a few years of her life for consensual sexy fun, no harm done, but I had played in the garden and now there were consequences. The child might be part mine, but the body it was in belonged to Brenda, her decisions on this matter were final.

Brenda deserved better. She deserved a man who would love her to the exclusion of all others. Who would make her the center of his life. Who would father her children and be completely devoted to her and them. I couldn't be that man. I cared for Brenda deeply, but I would be marrying Tamar.

"We have to talk." I began with Brenda.

"Okay." Brenda replied.

"In the modern world, you could take that child and go where you wish. Maybe find another man if that's what you wish. Unfortunately, the child will be part of my world whether he inherits some of my gift or not. As such, he will be a target for some very mean customers. Do you understand that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I will, of course, provide for you and the child." I said.

"Thank-you." She said.

"Do you know where you want to go? What you want to do?" I asked.

"Could I stay with you?" She asked.

"Yes. Of course." I answered. "But you would have to understand, I'll be married to Tamar."

"I understand." She replied.

We discussed the living arrangements for a bit.

"If you decide you want to be with another man, that won't change things in the sense I would still look after you and the child financially. However, I would expect you to move out." I said being a bit of a heel.

"I understand, but I don't want another man." Brenda answered.

It was wrong. I should have said something clear then, but it was convenient. I didn't want Brenda wandering off somewhere with my child and putting both her and the child in danger. If she stayed here because she was still infatuated with me, believing she would be some sort of second wife, everything would be easier.

I had to meet with Brenda's parents. Brenda was now their only child after their son having been killed in action in the service.

We all sat down in the rarely used living room of the main house on my estate.

I began with, "You should know, I am a man of some means. Your daughter and her child will want for nothing."

Her Father replied sternly, "We take that for granted."

The Mother then chirped in with the accusation, "We feel like you took advantage of Brenda. That you weren't honest with her."

How could I argue? I had been honest in the ways Brenda's Mother had thought I lied, but I had brought Brenda to myself with a seeming in the first place.

"Mom!" Brenda interjected.

"Please, I was having a serious relationship with both Tamar and Brenda. They both knew about the other. I had decided to marry Tamar before I found out about Brenda's condition. Even if I had known, I would have still married Tamar. I care deeply for your daughter, but the pregnancy was a surprise to both of us. I never promised to marry her. Once again, I will do everything I can to look after Brenda and the child." I replied.

Her parents were, understandably, not happy. I patiently accepted their berating and apologized repeatedly. Part of me knew I deserved their words because I was allowing the convenient option to occur. I could only hope they would mellow.

Jake's mom, Becky Black, came to our wedding. The home I had built for Jake and Kelly had a mother-in-law suite, so she stayed there. Then Becky decided to move here to Omaha.

"This is much nicer than a crummy apartment and lousy waitress job in Lowell!" Becky announced in my hearing.

Becky moved in and took to her new role as Grandma to Michael. She didn't loaf. She got a job working the breakfast shift at the Lodge, worked hard and looked after Michael in the evenings so that Jake and Kelly could both work dinner.

Our wedding reception was very pleasant. At first, I planned to have the reception at the Lodge. Unfortunately, it would have proven difficult to comply with Jewish religious dietary laws. So, the Lodge, sort of, catered the wedding at the Temple. Miranda, Kelly and Yumi threw themselves into the cooking with the Rebbetzin and the Temple ladies. It was possible to get kosher bison. It was a great meal. There was dancing. Everyone had a good time.

I took Tamar to Israel for our honeymoon. I used one of the private jets I had access to, a G6. It was nice to get away. We had a private tour. Our guide, Asael, took us around in a nice van. We saw all sorts of places that were beautiful like Baniyas, Ein Gedi and Mitzpe Rimon. We saw historic places like Gamlat, Ceasaria and Masada. We saw places from the bible like the Tomb of the Patriarchs, Rachel's Tomb and the Western Wall. I saw some ugliness when the Muslims rolled their small children in front of our van in Hebron in an effort to get us to run them over.

"If I run one over, then they will say I did it on purpose. Make a big incident. Claim we did it on purpose. People back in the rest of the world would not believe they did this to their own children." Asael explained.

It was insane and right before our eyes. Even before my eyes I could not comprehend how people could do that with their own children.

Author's Note: The above is based on my personal experiences and reflects a real and authentic event.

Tamar bought me a prayer shawl in Tzefat. I bought phylacteries in Jerusalem. Israel is known for its many fine jewelers and Tamar had but to point to get anything she wanted.

After we toured for a couple weeks, I paid Asael and sent him on his way. He left us in Tel Aviv and we hung out on the beach for a week.

"I want you to remember what I looked like in a bikini before I show." Tamar explained.

We stayed at a fancy hotel on the beach. We broke their bed. Twice. If Tamar hadn't been pregnant before we went, she would have been now.

We flew back to our more normal life.

Tamar moved out of her cottage and into the Master suite. Tamar would also remodel and keep one of the eight suites I had kept for college girls, so she would have a private space.

The cottage was expanded from a one-bedroom cottage to a two-bedroom home with a much more substantial kitchen and much larger bathroom. We also added a one car garage. I made sure the plumbing would be ready for a second bathroom to be added at a later date. I also made sure the cottage had top of the line furnishings and quietly picked what Brenda wanted.

When the cottage was ready, Brenda moved in from her college girl suite. By then, Tamar and Brenda were both showing.

Diane graduated. She had a position as the Grounds Maintenance Director at a golf resort in Idaho. I cleared all student loans. I also gave her a Visa gift card with some cash on it. Lastly, I gave her the oldest of the house Subaru Foresters. We spent one last night together and I sent her on her way.

I would not be refilling the larder, so to speak. We had Novi who was more than capable of doing all three jobs and more. Novi had no trouble taking over grounds maintenance.

I was slowing down, but Kaylee and Yumi both had two more years on their programs. So, I continued to enjoy their company. However, when they graduated, that would be it. They did now dress more conservatively around the house. When I went to them, it was quietly in their rooms.

Novi had a particular game she liked to play. When others were around, she would wear a very conservative maid's outfit. When it was just the two of us, she would magically change the outfit into a black fishnet two-piece thing which she knew was the outfit I had found Stephanie most enticing in all those years ago. In truth, since Novi's fishnet outfit held nothing back, it was probably even more daring. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't used her gifts again.

Still I was slowing down.

I talked to Tamar quietly in our bedroom one night. "You're being so understanding about all this. I have been getting rid of much, but I still have girls around, Novi's joined the household and Brenda is essentially becoming a second wife. All in front of you. Tell me how you really feel. If you say to get rid of them all I will."

"Husband, I would be lying if I said I was happy about all those things. Yes, I would like you all to myself. However, I am very aware that for most of human history, a man, particularly one of means, would have many wives. It was a biological necessity driven by the much higher mortality rate of men than women. Yes, by the time I was born in Vienna, the world had already changed enough so that this was no longer normal. However, 200 years ago, one could still look over one's shoulder to the recent past when it was normal.

"If I was a twenty-year-old child, I would probably have a hard time sharing my toys. I'm older now. I have a longer view of things. Men who are truly desirable, a woman should expect to share. I'm sure I could go out right now and find a dozen men who would commit themselves absolutely to me, none of them would interest me as much as the tip of your pinky.

"My own Father, he was a paragon of many virtues, but I know, and if I know my Mother certainly knew, he had two other women in Vienna with children. He also kept a steady flow of attractive young maids, not unlike you, though perhaps a bit more discreet, flowing through the home and used them as a convenience. Though to give you credit, you have been getting more discreet with the maids and I have no desire to go back to doing the housework.

"Still even if none of this was the case. Brenda was pregnant before you asked me to marry you. I appreciate you saying you would push her out if I asked, that makes me feel valued. However, I understand the practicalities. That child needs to stay here. Whether he inherits your gifts or not, he will be a friend and protector for our daughter his whole life. I can not deprive her of that, she is now the most important thing.

"Anyway, I have waited for you for 200 years, I can be patient. Brenda will be gone soon enough." Tamar explained.

"She'll be gone, what do you mean?" I asked. That had sounded threatening, like Tamar was planning or knew of a plot against Brenda.

"She's in her late twenties. Fifty, sixty years from now, she'll probably die of old age." Tamar said.

"Oh okay." I answered.

Having two pregnant wives should be a challenge. However, I sailed though. I had Novi for the midnight demands for corned beef and ice cream. I did attend lamaz with both. I read to both of their stomachs. I did participate in both deliveries.

Tamar gave me a beautiful baby girl who we named Yael at the Temple in the traditional ceremony. It turned out that Yael had been both my mother and Tamar's mother's name. Yes, we had checked when we found out. They were different women.

Brenda gave me a strong son, Caleb. That led to another conversation.

"I'm not sure if I want to convert to your faith." Brenda began clearly very nervous.

"Please, do not convert to please me. You should only convert if you feel a true calling to it." I tried to calm her.

"I know you want to raise Caleb in your faith." She said.

"I do, but that doesn't mean you must convert. Also, I only wish it if it's okay with you?" I answered.

"Yes, it's okay." Brenda answered.

With that, we went forward with Caleb's bris. If he chose not to be in my faith, it would mean nothing. If he did, then it would be a convenience to have that "under his belt."

I know having a newborn in the house is a major challenge for many families. The baby wakes up constantly, diapers need changing, there is endless laundry and cleaning. However, we had Yumi handling food and Kaylee handling housekeeping. Both girls also enjoyed holding and helping with the babies. A lot. We also had Novi always ready on hand. On top of that, Becky started coming over all the time, often bringing Michael. She had found out that Yael had no grandparents and that Caleb's remaining two grandparents were choosing to be stand offish. They had been very unhappy when they found out Caleb would be having a bris, not a christening.

Becky became the "Bubbe" for both babies and showered them with bottomless love. I was really grateful for that.

Tamar had put her job on indefinite hiatus.

"You know you could just quit that job. I could give you more money than you could ever likely spend." I said trying to understand why she didn't just quit.

"I might, and I might let you, but I enjoy it." Tamar replied.

"You enjoy it?" I asked not getting it.

"It makes me feel useful. The gift I inherited makes me an excellent courtesan or spy. This job lets me stretch those muscles a bit. There is the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of the kill. All in the service of some good cause." She explained with a contented smile as Yael began to nurse again.

"Well, let me know." I said a bit frustrated.

"I will." She replied.

It had actually made sense. I'd spent so much of my life chasing women, I'd gotten used to it. It wasn't so much the favors of any particular woman I desired, but the thrill of the chase that was the hardest thing to give up. When I was out and about, when I saw an attractive woman I desired, I'd still find myself, balancing and re-balancing the odds, figuring out how I would approach.

Brenda had managed to have the baby during summer recess. She had one more year to go. When she went back to classes, Tamar would watch Caleb. That meant Brenda had to go through the whole breast pump thing, and I got to feed him sometimes. Though feeding Caleb was a popular activity, so we all would vie for the pleasure. Tamar was an amazingly good sport about everything. I never detected the least resentment that I functionally had a second wife and a child by her, essentially living under the same roof.

So, I did a great deal of holding of both babies. I changed diapers. I changed clothes. I put them to bed. I didn't do a lot of feeding or bathing, both Mothers were breastfeeding and both mothers liked to bathe their babies. In fact, they would often do it together in the same tub. However, with all the help, I could hand the baby back whenever I felt like it and go to my forge, shop or just watch some video. With Kaylee, Yumi and Novi around, it wasn't like I was lacking for opportunities for release. I was hardly suffering. In fact, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and the feeling of Fatherly contentment.

Even the bad dreams had slowed down.

Other things changed too. Lots of things that seemed so important and exciting before I was married and a Father, were just let so. Going to performances, shows and receptions were just less appealing. Not just because they were no longer opportunities for meeting women.

On the other hand, Michael came around more. Becky would be around mothering the babies and the Mothers. When he got back from school, Michael would walk himself up from his house.

I didn't invite Michael, but one day he found me working on the Forge. My first instinct was to tell him to go away. Instead, I brought him in and showed him some basics. By the end of the afternoon, he had managed to bang out something that was shaped like a heart, if you looked at it from the right angle, sort of. I put a magnet on the back and he gave it to his Mom. On a later visit to their home, I noticed the 'heart' was attached to the hood above the stove. I was gratified.

After that, Michael came to hang out frequently. I had to make sure he'd completed his homework, though if he hadn't, I would stop what I was doing and help him finish. Then I would show Michael various things I enjoyed, like noodling with the cars. The high point was when I taught Michael how to use a CNC machine and he made himself a rocket jet toy. He dug that. His parents were excited he was learning real technical skills and math. They were also happy they wouldn't have to pay $89 for the rocket jet toy. I just enjoyed hanging out with him and seeing him grow and develop.

I was at the taco bar again. I'd missed the cheap, but good tacos. Then Kinky walked in all by himself. That was so weird, I hadn't seen Kinky for such a long time. I should have been angry. Instead, I was afraid. He walked up to me and all I could do was sit there. Then he grabbed me by the head. I couldn't seem to resist. I awoke. 4:57 am, I turned off the alarm before it bothered Tamar or Yael. No getting back to sleep after that.

I did my morning ablutions and then had my breakfast, expertly presented by Yumi. I might have taken Yumi back to her room, but I was meeting with Novi.

Novi had continued my lessons.

"There is, for you not me, an endless sea of things human mages have learned to do with their magic. No human could hope to master them all, even in an extended lifespan. In our lessons, we can pursue different disciplines as you wish. However, there are a number of basic things any human mage would be expected to have mastered, many of which you have not. I recommend we start with those." Novi had said at our first lesson.

I had agreed and lately we had been working on being able to move things with magic. Yes, I had mastered the Jedi trick of getting something to jump into my hand, but that was hardly even a beginning. I was getting better, using my axe as a focus I was finding I could grab something and throw it.

The lesson ended. I washed up again and found myself some lunch in the kitchen. There was a big smoked meat sandwich on a roll of nice crisp bread. I ate and enjoyed.

I went to the forge and began to bang on the new chest plate I was trying to create. I currently had two serious forge projects I was playing with. I still had the Ulfberht sword I was trying and failing on. I also had decided to make a breastplate. I'd had a lot of breastplates. The last one had been shattered. I had a new one, but I felt I could do better. In material theory, steel is not a good choice for modern armor. It was still used because it's cheap, but there are materials like ceramic and CFRTPCs which are just better. There was also a sort of metal foam that looked very promising, but not yet ready for prime time. Still, after I produced my new axe, I had realized that forging the metal could allow me to pour in all sorts of new magic. In addition, it would make an excellent stab protection layer. Working on a forge is hot, hard work. So, I was wearing loose six pocket pants, slippers and a leather apron.

It was a nice Fall day. The air was just starting to have the faintest bit of the crispness of the season. I had just opened the door to my forge to enjoy a bit of free air conditioning. I paused for a moment to enjoy the cool air and take a long deep breath.

Then something nasty and arachnid and about the size of a large dog started burrowing out of the ground. My axe was in arms reach. I grabbed it, reached out and used magic to pull a piece of molten steel about the size of a walnut out of the forge and fling it right into the creature. It let out a very unnatural and unpleasant scream, then died.

Then it melted and vanished. There was still a piece of red hot, rapidly cooling steel resting on the broken turf.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 2: Ring of Fire**

"What the blazes was that?" I asked in a none too pleasant tone.

Immediately after the spider incursion I had sent out a security alert. I collected camera footage. My war council was assembling in the war room, also known as the kitchen table. I had really been looking forward to Michael coming to play today.

Travis was in town, so he came. Jake woke up from much needed sleep and rushed over. Tamar left Miriam with Brenda who was home. Novi was, as one would expect, available.

I had just shown everybody the critter from several angles as it came out of the ground.

Tamar and Novi looked at each other. Then Novi spoke, "It's definitely a creature from what you call 'Fairyland.' Unfortunately, Fairyland is huge, many times the size of Earth, and has endless types of creatures in it. Nothing is conversant with all the types of creatures here on Earth, certainly nothing is conversant in all the types of creatures there."

"So, we have no real idea what it is?"

"Yes." Novi explained. When I gave her a look she continued, "If incursions by this type of creature became frequent, it would become worthwhile to research them. We would find the creature's neighbors who were most knowledgeable and/or human-like and get a name they are called by. We would also develop information on what their strengths, weaknesses and most likely tactics would be. It does seem to be vulnerable to iron as much of Fairyland is."

"But it wouldn't make sense to do that now?" I asked.

"It would be your decision, but it seems unwise to scatter your defensive assets into intelligence gathering until we're sure that intelligence has value. If no other such creature ever came, but you had sent away your best defensive assets to gain information on them just as something else came through in force, it would be bad." Novi explained.

"I think I understand. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Why did it happen now?" I asked.

"One of the situations I have been monitoring…" Novi began.

"'One of the situations,' There's more than one? Why haven't you told me about them?" I asked surprised.

"I monitor a wide variety of threats to your home Master. If I explained each one briefly, it would take significantly longer than you are likely to live. This threat moved from small potential threat to emergent real threat without warning." Novi explained.

"Please explain further." I asked when she seemed to stop.

"I suspect the problem is twofold. First, the neighborhood of Fairyland that you're connected to has changed. Secondly, the barrier has thinned." Novi explained.

"How is this possible? How could our connection change? How could it thin?" I asked.

Tamar answered, "What you call Fairyland and what I grew up calling Marchenland, does not connect to Earth in a direct, linear, objective way. Rather, it connects in a subjective way. Like connects with like. A nice neighborhood on Earth links to a similar nice neighborhood in Fairyland, a bad neighborhood to bad. That actually makes a way wizards use to travel long distances, they can connect to a spot in Fairyland, walk a short way and find a spot connected to the other side of the planet."

"Why would that change?" Jake asked, still apparently as confused as I was.

Tamar continued, "Based on what you have told me of this place, when you bought the land, it was probably connected to a group of slowly declining provincial gentlefolk. Then you changed the character of the neighborhood and the connection probably changed to a minor provincial noble who didn't want much trouble which is why things have been quiet. Lately though, it's changed again."

"Changed? How?" Travis asked.

Novi picked up again, "You have been burying things in your garden. Your place has gotten creepier."

That made sense. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and tried to rub my temples.

I had buried Forest Man, he probably didn't matter much. However, then I had buried those two poor people I had to kill as Men in Black and Ha with them. That probably started the ball rolling. Lastly, I had buried Chebelforth, still alive, down there. That was creepy having a very dangerous monster buried alive on the property. I don't think in those terms normally. He was secure in cement, but he was still there.

"Is Chebelforth doing something which is making this problem?" I asked.

"No, he can take no direct action from within his sarcophagus. However, he is a large source of dark, corruptive, necromantic magic energy. He seems to have tipped a balance and changed our connection again. Now we're opposite a graveyard of spooky things that aren't resting peacefully." Novi explained.

"So, what are our options?" I asked.

Tamar came in again, "We can move Chebelforth. We can try to thicken the barrier, or we can go to the other side and try to settle things."

"It seems to me, even if we go to the other side and settle things, the subjective nature of the connection will mean we just jump to another creepy graveyard." I said.

"That does seem likely. It could provide temporary respite, though, if we can't find another solution." Novi replied.

"Let's try and get this fixed before we have to storm the ultimate, real haunted house. Ideally, before any other buggity boos find their way through. Tamar, I want you to try and find a place we can move Chebelforth. It will need to be secure, even after Chebelforth is dumped there. We don't want anything crawling up from Fairyland and accidentally releasing him. We also don't want any stupid yaehoos from this side letting him out either.

"Novi, your job is to try and figure a way to thicken the barrier.

"My job will be finding a way to move Chebelforth if that is needed.

"Jake, Travis, you provide support. Girls if you need something, call them.

"Everybody agreed?" I asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Let's get this done." I said.

I went back to my office and did a bit of research. I had earth moving equipment on site to dig Chebelforth out. Novi could probably get the dirt to just flow off. I looked into getting a crane to lift Chebby out of the ground and a flatbed to drag him somewhere. A few hours of noodling on the internet and checking with clients left me with a set of options.

So, my job was done.

Just as I finished, Michael came over. We worked on his homework, then we went to the forge. I left the breastplate and sword on the shelf and pulled out a serving dish Michael and I had been working on. It wasn't pretty yet, but mostly it was about teaching Michael the basics of how to be a smith's apprentice, far more than anything practical. We worked on it till dinner.

Becky took Michael home and we had our family dinner presented expertly by Yumi.

After dinner I checked with Tamar and Novi.

"Have we found anything? I have some options to move our unwanted guest if we can figure someplace better to move him?" I asked.

They both started talking at the same time. Tamar graciously nodded to Novi who continued, "There may be exotic methods to thicken the barrier between our home and Fairyland, but the simplest would be for us to change what we are linked to by changing the character of the property on our side."

So, essentially, she was saying we had to move Chebby.

Tamar, with a funny look, then began, "It would be better to strengthen the barrier between our property and Fairyland as removing Chebelforth will be problematic. Anyplace he goes he may bring this link with him and we don't want him accidentally or purposefully being released by some fairy creature. Further, outside the protection of this home, like calls to like, so the mad and evil of this world would be drawn to release him as well."

So, essentially, she was saying we had to thicken.

This reminded me of an anecdote from my college days. I had been studying Lunar and Planetary Geology when I ran across the story. Before the first moon landing in 1969, there had been a great deal of dispute over the nature of the craters on the moon. Geologists, as a group, had said they had been caused by meteor impacts. Astronomers, as a group, had been saying the craters were caused by volcanism. So, the geologists had been saying the craters were caused by an astronomy solution and the astronomers had been blaming it on geology which showed neither group really knew how to proceed. I learned of this bit of fun science history in a geology department, no doubt since they had eventually been vindicated, but that hardly exonerated them. However, a solution to my current conundrum presented itself.

"Fine. Novi, you're in charge of figuring out how to change the character of the property. That's a broad mandate, it doesn't necessarily mean moving Chebby unless a secure new location can be found.

"Tamar, you're in charge of figuring out some way to thicken the barrier between us and Fairyland.

"I'll review both situations and see what I can figure out as well. Anything new to report?" 

Novi piped up, "I destroyed a lizard shaped creature of approximately the same size and weight as the spider creature during the afternoon."

That got everyone's attention.

"Thank-you. Well that just gives this task new urgency." I replied.

Everyone nodded.

The next evening, we came together for dinner. I noticed Brenda and Caleb were not joining us. Dinner was something of an ad hoc arrangement in our home. I went to the Lodge far less often than I once did which made Miranda and Kelly happy as they could use my table, though I still went every week or two.

Tamar and Yael came to dinner nearly every evening. Yumi was home for dinner as she was making and presenting it. Kaylee joined us most nights, but she occasionally had to stay out for studies or some social activity. Novi came most nights even though she didn't need to eat.

Brenda and Caleb were the most variable. Some nights they did join us, some nights they stayed in their cabin and Yumi sent food down and some nights Brenda chose to use her kitchen facilities to cook.

I had been to a few such dinners. Brenda wasn't a bad cook, but I had been spoiled by Yumi, and Miranda before her, both of whom were world class chefs. Brenda was a typical cook. Her food was wholesome, decent but hardly inspired. She tended to choose casseroles, pasta dishes and salads.

However, tonight Brenda had stayed home. I wasn't unreasonably worried, she had a panic button if something went wrong and Novi would be aware fairly quickly if something was happening.

After dinner, Tamar, Novi and I had another conversation. I wasn't looking forward to it as I had come up goose eggs on solutions to either problem. I just didn't know much about Fairyland and Chebby was like a pile of toxic waste, anyplace he went he would change the character substantially and still be a problem.

They both started speaking again at the same time and Tamar once again graciously waited.

Novi began, "I have not yet found a place that Chebelforth can be moved safely. I have been able to determine he is the primary issue in terms of changing the home's resonance with Fairyland. I will continue to investigate."

After politely waiting for Novi to stop, Tamar began, "I don't have a clear way to thicken the barrier between us and Fairyland. However, I have determined something that may be a practical solution."

"Oh what?" I asked relieved we had some good news.

"If we inject rods of stainless steel in the ground, that may make the path to our home less desirable for fairy creatures. It may not stop them altogether, but it could dramatically reduce the frequency.''

That sounded good to me, but I turned to Novi, "Do you think this might work?"

Novi nodded and replied, "Yes, this has a high probability of succeeding."

"Then we get on this tomorrow." I replied.

Everyone nodded.

After dinner, I was nervous, so I made my way down to Brenda's cottage. Nothing happened on the way.

When I got to the cottage, I knocked lightly. One does NOT want to wake a sleeping baby and Caleb, bless his heart, was a bit colicky. Brenda came to the door and greeted me, "I just put him down."

Tamar is not a large woman and had endured a difficult birth with Yael. The physician had reassured me that her internals were fine, but a baby emerging from such a small passage, and Yael had been a very healthy sized baby, can cause tearing. It would take Tamar a while more to heal before she would be ready to entertain her husband again as man and wife.

Brenda on the other hand, had an easier time. Caleb was small, perhaps a bit premature and Brenda is a big healthy girl with some strong hips. Still, we had not been together since the birth.

I had sensed that had changed.

Brenda led me to her kitchen table and fed me a piece of apple pie that she did very well.

I explained what was currently happening on the estate and brought her up to speed. She then went and checked her Glock. After that, she led me to her bed.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

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and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

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Please help. Thank-you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 3: Long Black Train**

The water lilies and vines caressed my body as I relaxed in a deep eddy. I was just starting to feel a bit of hunger. What should I eat? The river was full of tasty fish and succulent eel. A swift movement in the dark could give me a variety of tasty land dwelling animals, a savory bird, a fat rabbit. But I already knew what I would eat, my favorite meal, the nearly hairless monkey, particularly a young female, always the most tender and flavorful.

Twilight gave me what I wanted. One of the hairless monkeys had been careless with her young. I crawled up cautiously onto to the bank to fetch my dinner. My mouth already anticipating the salty, coppery, greasy goodness of the dinner that would soon be mine. I looked down and saw Yael.

I sat up straight in bed and saw that it was 4:59.

Well I wasn't going back to sleep. I turned off the alarm, but Yael woke up crying, no doubt sensitive to a sudden change in the room. I went and picked up Yael and comforted her. I took her to the bathroom where we had a changing station. I changed her out of her dirty diaper into a clean diaper and a new clean sleeper. I took her back to her mother who, without waking all the way, lowered the blanket, raised her nighty and took Yael into bed and began to nurse her. There were some limits of what I could do to ease Tamar's burden and that was about it.

I got dressed and went out. I had a project to do anyway.

I had a machine dropped by. The machine was built on a Bobcat. It was designed for post hole digging. It had a pump that hooked on the back of the Bobcat that built up a pneumatic tank and, when ready, could be triggered to fire the big tube on the front of the Bobcat. The big tube would fire a piece of ridiculously high quality for the application stainless steel rebar into the ground. I'd carefully marked off all my underground piping and plumbing. I had a nice supply of unreasonably high quality stainless steel rebar cut into one-meter lengths. I drove that Bobcat all over my grounds. It was a chore, waiting for the pneumatics to recharge, loading the gun with new rebar spears. It was actually kind of fun too. Very cathartic. Every foot, another rebar spear was fired into the ground never to be seen again. I didn't worry about buildings or even my honored guest's sarcophagus, they all had my standard construction of rebar and concrete. The fact that no creepy crawlies had emerged in structures was part of the argument for this course of action. At the end of two solid days of work. Every square foot had a stainless-steel rebar spear driven into it. Would it work?

Incidents went from two, to one the day I was working to zero. Next day, zero. Perfect.

Suddenly, I felt it was time to take a trip, just as Tamar came to me and said, "I think we need to take a trip, there is something I wish to give to you."

We took a drive to Chicago. That's a leisurely day drive without children. Two long days with a baby. We stayed overnight in Quad Cities, it wasn't so bad. We got to Devonshire Park in Skokie the next day. Tamar took Yael and me out for a walk and finally pointed to a spot under some bushes, "Dig there."

Tamar had previously told me to bring a shovel and I dug.

I waded into the bushes, which, of course, had to have thorns. A few spades of dirt and I brought up a chunk of steel about the size of my thumb.

"Is this it?" I asked, even though I could feel the power in it.

"Yes. That is the final heirloom of my house. I was the only one of my family to survive. My father chose me to survive so I could protect and carry this bequeath. I came to live here in Chicago and lived quietly. When I knew the White Man was coming for me, I hid it, lest it fall into another's hands. Now I give it to you." Tamar explained.

"Thank-you." I replied.

As long as we were there, I took Tamar for some deep dish at Pizzeria Uno. Then we repaired to the Palmer House where we had to have a brownie. The next morning, after a nice hotel breakfast, a last stop at Romanian for deli on the way out of town and we mounted up for home.

This time, Yael slept the whole trip, driven at ninety, but very smooth. There are two interstates that go due west from Chicago, I-80 and I-88. Most travelers take I-80 with it's nicer amenities and lack of tolls. If one takes I-88 out of Illinois and one is willing to pay the toll, one can blast down at high speed with almost no traffic. Since Law Enforcement in Illinois is all about revenue generation, not law and order, and since they wished to encourage people to pay the toll, they let people drive as fast as they want. The world catches up at Quad Cities on the Illinois/Iowa border, where I-88 merges back into I-80 for the long drag across Iowa to Omaha. However, if it's already after midnight and one's wife and daughter are already asleep, one can continue to blast so that one can be in one's own comfortable bed sooner rather than later.

One enterprising Iowa State Trooper had tried to give me chase around Belle Plain, but suddenly found, after I snapped my fingers, the entire electronic control system in his car, and I suspect his cell phone and radio as well, all died. He had managed to pull off to the side of the road in a controlled manner. I gave him not another thought.

I pulled into my garage, and by the time I had Tamar and Miriam bundled off to bed, it was just turning 5am.

Since it was too late to go to sleep, I took the strange little metal bit to the forge. I looked across my forge and my eyes fell on the Ulfberht sword I'd been noodling on for I don't know how long. As I have explained before, the Ulfberht was medieval Europe's answer to the Katana. The Ulfberht swords were forged for two hundred years, from roughly the year 800 to 1000. It was made of steel that was reasonably good by modern standards, which would have been light years beyond it's contemporaries in Europe. Then the secret of how such steel was made was lost for roughly a thousand years. One can watch a Nova episode on how they think the steel might have been made. My opinion on how the steel was made is tempered by an extensive review of current theories, my own advanced degree in material science and the knowledge that things like Svartalves would have existed back then.

However, in addition to it's steel, the Ulfberht, like the Katana, is also special because of it's shape. The length, balance, weight and shape are all a carefully choreographed symphony, designed to give optimum performance, perfect for speed and ease of handling.

Creating a reasonable facsimile of an Ulfberht sword would be one of the most complex undertakings in forge craft one could accept. Which is, no doubt, why I had been failing at it for over a year. I also have to accept that part of the problem is that I hadn't been taking the problem seriously.

I'd had periods where I worked on it more. Then I had been distracted by an ancient demonic force coming to town. After that was sorted out, I'd had an idea for a breastplate. Then there was the whole marriage and children kerfuffle. Then I became involved with tutoring Michael. I'd spent the last few months more involved in the idea of making a lopsided ashtray when no one in any of our extended households smokes.

The Ulfberht languished on my shelf.

I pulled the piece of metal out of my pocket from Chicago. It had power in it. A considerable amount of power. So, it would likely be some sort of power source.

One of the little side cul-de-sacs of magic is something I call power sources. One of the basic problems of magic is that most practitioners are not incredibly powerful and able to cast massive fireballs and such off the cuff. One way to work around such a weakness is to build up more and more magic into an object. While far more time consuming than waving one's magic wand, it allows a weaker practitioner, with time, to catch up with a more powerful one. I've heard stories of White Council wizards blasting people out the side of buildings with columns of flame over a yard in diameter, something I'm pretty sure is well outside of my capabilities. At the same time, I could slowly build up power in a bullet and end up with something pretty potent. One would have to be quite high on the magic food chain to be able to shrug off one of my 50 Beo Type 6 bullets. In which case, they probably wouldn't care much about a fireball either.

There was also a little problem with this strategy. Day by day, whatever was so enchanted, slowly lost it's enchantment. This is part of why, when one tours antique shops and flea markets, it's so rare to find a true magic object. Unless something has been charged relatively recently, all the magic has likely drained away with time. There was more to it. The way the runes were drawn, the material enchanted, they all had an effect on how well the enchantment held over time. My bullets were a best-case scenario. Runes drawn into a magically sympathetic material, one that was hard, like metal, that didn't need to expend magic on a moment-by-moment basis, but rather held their magic for a specific event, would as my cartridges did, for example, keep their enchantment for a few years.

On the other hand, my coat which needed to provide all sorts of magical services including protection, air-conditioning and disguise among others, could need to be redone each month.

Of course, there was a work around for the work around. There were other ways to power a magical construct. One classic was ley lines, natural currents of magic that criss cross the Earth. One can set up something that is essentially stationary to draw on ley lines. My home, built on a weak ley line, draws on that power to keep her defenses bright and strong.

Then there is another option.

There is a class of very special objects which I'm sure there are a million special names for, but which I call power sources. These objects provide a power source for a magic item. These items are like their own little ley lines, except they're portable. They just keep pouring out a certain amount of power all the time. I could imagine such a power source that was so powerful that it gushed some sort of geyser all the time. I imagine such an item could be the sort of McGuffin which could get the entire magical world moving. I did have a few power sources, which gave off small amounts of power that, if not used, would just dissipate into the air. These items could be placed in something like my coat, the runes and magical design carefully anticipating it, and the coat would just stay powered. Obviously, such items would be very valuable.

I'd had some experience with such objects in the past.

Not every power source worked the same. Based on my past experience, I tried a handful of different techniques I knew to see if I could access the power of Tamar's metal bit. I couldn't. I could feel it, clear and potent. What would bring it out? Was it even a power source? I didn't know.

I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and I had spent the day in the shop with the strange piece of metal. There wasn't much more I could think of to do today so I locked the chunk of metal into my precious metal safe in the shop and went to get some dinner, a shower and an early bed time.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 4: Prodigal Son**

The next day was Saturday and Tamar wanted to make an appearance at Temple. We went as quite the caravan. Tamar, Yael and me. Kelly, Becky and Jake in another car. At the last minute, Brenda joined us with Caleb following in her own car.

It was a pleasant service. I got to wear the prayer shawl Tamar had given me in Israel. After the stress of getting ready to go, I found it pleasant that we _HAD_ to sit separated from the women. Jake, fresh back from Chicago, sat next to me and we commiserated on the impositions family life put on us while envying Travis that he hadn't had to come too.

The service and sermon ended, and we repaired to the social hall where they had a nice "Kiddush," essentially a snack with cake, chips and lemonade. The chocolate chip cookies were surprisingly good.

The Rabbi said a blessing over wine. We all drank little cups of grape juice. It was cute watching Caleb and Yael navigate the grape juice. It was a pleasant surprise to see they both liked it.

We had a pleasant snack where I presided over our table like I was some kind of big deal.

Then we shook hands with the Rabbi and we made our way out. We went to the Lodge and finished lunch. Kelly, Becky and Jake got sucked in at various times into helping. Then we all made our way home.

By then, the day was mostly shot.

We watched Michael, so Jake could take Kelly to a movie I wanted to see and have a quiet night to themselves.

I was going to order in pizza, but Novi made it before I could order it. Tamar and I spent the evening on the couch, checking on the babies every so often, eating our pizza. We watched something Tamar liked, so it was some deadly dull Masterpiece Theater thing where everyone was English, and it took them a minimum of a minute to begin speaking, and they did a lot of speaking. Eventually, in a big action climax, one of them pointed at the other. Apparently, that was a big deal. I fell asleep on the couch wondering if I could get Tamar interested in Sons of Anarchy. I dreamed of being a biker with a black leather jacket and a bad attitude.

The next day we were to host a picnic. We had a big brick grill on the patio. So, I got up, filled it with wood and charcoal, and lit it up. It would take a few hours to get to that perfect low and slow temperature.

It was a perfect Omaha fall day. Not a cloud in the sky. Pleasantly cool, not cold. It had been chilly the last few nights so that all the bugs had died or gone dormant. The trees were thinking of turning and unleashing on us their storm of leaves that would need to be raked, over and over, in a Sisyphean task of pointless hard labor, but hadn't started yet.

I filled up a big cooler with ice, beer, the little fizzy bottles of apple juice and the little English bottles of coke I liked. I set up some comfy chairs and a table, so I would have all the things I needed close by.

We had a main picnic table as well with benches.

As this was a bar-b-que, I would be expected to cook the meat. So, I stationed myself near the grill with drink in one hand, tongs or other tool in the other and comfortable chair behind. Of course, I had Miranda, Kelly, Yumi and even Tamar checking on me, which I loudly protested, but appreciated. I even had Novi check for real every so often, so I didn't burn and ruin everything.

We had great burgers, quarter pound all beef hot dogs from Romanian and some amazing Bison steaks and ribs. The red meat had all been marinated and seasoned. I was cooking it low and slow on the grill, so it was making a wonderful smell.

Strangely, the men all segregated like at Temple. Travis, Jake and I all ended up sitting around the grill. Our office of grill masters was so important that it was inconceivable that we might abandon it for a lesser task, like setting the table. We had no choice but sit there and drink beer. There was a big screen with some athletic contest including a ball and grass sitting on the nearby table while the women worked endlessly prepping side dishes and setting the table. I would think they must enjoy it. Of course, the guacamole and chips went so well with the burgers and hot dogs as we waited for the Bison to cook. Then Miranda finished setting up a deep fryer and the home-made fries started coming out. That girl has a touch for French fries.

Mike came over with an oblong shaped brown ball with pointy ends, similar to the one being used in the athletic match on the television we were watching, "Hey Jake, would you like a catch?"

"Sure Mike!" Jake replied, and they went out on the lawn and started throwing the ball back and forth, clearly enjoying themselves.

I had never done something like catch with my Dad. He'd been too busy. I liked watching Jake and Michael play. Something I noticed though, as I watched them play, Jake had gone to Chicago a boy, but he had come home a man. I couldn't point at the specific bit of growth or change, but it was clear. Jake had a new sort of confidence and strength that just exuded out of him. I was happy for Jake. I was happy for us.

With not much interest in the meat, which didn't need much attention, and less for what is happening on the screen, I mostly watched Jake and Michael. Still, my mind wasn't occupied much by it all so my ears started to wander.

The women were talking as they worked.

"So, when I convert, does that mean Michael becomes Jewish too?" Kelly asked.

I figured she was asking Tamar, as she was our in house Jewish expert.

"No, it will still be up to him. If he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to." Tamar replied as I expected.

In our little community we had quite a variety of religious opinion. On one end of the scale were Tamar and I, both clearly Jewish. On the other was Miranda and Travis, both clearly not. I think Miranda was Catholic and Travis was some form of Baptist.

In the middle were the two middle cases. The first was Jake and Kelly. Jake, despite not being raised as such, was still Jewish. While as far as I knew, no one had encouraged her or made a demand, Kelly had become the most devout of our community, determined to convert to the faith.

I had asked Jake, "Did you ask her to convert? Put some pressure on her?"

"No! I swear! She told me all out of the blue she wanted to do it. I told her it was no big deal. She said, 'It's a big deal to me!' Really intensely. I figure, if she wants to, what harm is it?" Jake answered.

So, Kelly, who wasn't even Jewish, became the most devoutly observant of our group.

Then there was Brenda.

Caleb had a brit. Brenda had agreed. Still, when I talked to Brenda about it she had asked me in a quiet private moment, "Do you want me to convert?"

"Please, only if you feel a calling. Please don't do it for me. It won't change how I feel about you." I had answered, worried Brenda would do something in a pointless quest for affection. I was desperate that Brenda not do anything just to try to curry some sort of favor with me. I wanted Brenda to feel secure, safe.

The brit didn't make him Jewish. Caleb would still have to go through a conversion, eventually, if he wanted to be Jewish.

Kelly continued asking, "What about Caleb? Will he be Jewish?"

Tamar replied, "There are some Jewish sects that say the Jewish faith can pass through the father, but most Jews believe that to be Jewish, one must be born of a Jewish mother or convert. Certainly, that is the way Jack and I were raised. However, should Caleb choose someday to convert, since he has a Jewish father, the process is streamlined."

"So that means no?" Kelly persisted.

"That means Caleb can choose to convert if he wishes when he is ready, but no, he is not Jewish at this time." Tamar clarified.

Then what I was wishing wouldn't happen, did. Kelly turned to Brenda and asked, "Are you going to convert?"

Brenda took a while to reply, "I don't know. It's not the way I was raised. I'm thinking about it."

I could hear the uncertainty in Brenda's voice and I felt so bad for her.

"Okay." Kelly replied, apparently unaware of the subtexts.

Then Kelly went on and started talking about some book she was reading pursuant to her conversion. Clearly it had a lot of meaning for her.

I was grateful Jake was done playing with Michael and had resumed his sacred duties of watching over the meat with Travis and me as this allowed me to stop listening to the women and ask, "What happened in Chicago? What kind of things did they show you?"

"Funny you should ask, I was just thinking about it." Jake began. "I started with Will and Georgia. They know a lot of different ways for someone to be a werewolf, and apparently, I don't fit in any of them."

"Really? Like what?" Travis asked.

"Well, some guys, they don't really change into actual wolves. They just 'take in the spirit of the wolf.' I'm not sure if they're really werewolves, but they looked like some mean customers." Jake began

"That sounds a little like me?" I replied surprised.

"Yeah, but these guys are different. It's like the wolf makes them bestial, vicious." Jake replied.

"So exactly like you." Travis added helpfully.

"Thanks for your analysis." I replied sarcastically.

Jake wisely moved the conversation along, "Then some people can change because they have magic items, generally belts, that let them."

"That sounds interesting. Did they have any of those belts? I'd like to look at one." I said.

"Apparently the wizard they know said they were all cursed and collected them up. I said to Will and Georgia, 'That sounds very convenient.' But they seemed to think he was sincere. Such items are apparently normally cursed." Jake explained.

"Well fine." I said disappointed.

"Then there are some wolves that are apparently, like, intelligent," Jake tried to explain.

"You mean sentient?" I asked.

"I don't know what that means, but like people. Some of them can become people. One of those taught Will, Georgia and their people to become wolves." Jake explained.

"I'd still like to learn that trick too." I said.

"Lastly, they say there is something called a 'Loup-Garou' and they said I was a little like that." Jake said.

"A French werewolf?" I asked surprised as Loup-Garou is, essentially, French for werewolf.

"No, it means some sort of specially cursed werewolf." Jake explained.

"I'm not sure which is worse, to be French or specially cursed." Travis piped in amused.

"Well they said they met one of these Loup-Garous before and he was a tough customer. I couldn't get all the details of the story, but it seems to have happened around the same time they met the wolf who taught them to shift." Jake continued.

"So, are you a Loup-Garou?" I asked.

"Apparently not. I'm something they haven't run into before, which they think means I'm pretty rare." Jake said with some pride.

"Not like there's a lot of anything left in the world." Travis pointed out.

"And less of even that after the Fomor have been rounding up anything that didn't run fast enough." I added.

"Still, it's kinda cool to be so rare?" Jake continued.

"I suppose. Could they help you?" I asked.

"Yeah. They weren't exactly the same thing, but they could show me stuff. You know how I could never change when I wanted. It would just happen, whether I liked it or not, on the full moon?" Jake asked.

"Well, yeah." I answered matter-of-factly, thinking how many times those shifts happened on my grounds.

"Now I can control it more. I could change right now if I wanted." Jake said.

"You could change right now?" Travis said surprised.

"Well I wouldn't. It would be messy. But yeah, if I had to, like, maybe to defend the place, I could become a wolf." Jake explained.

"That is really cool. Did you learn anything else?" I said.

"Now I can also stay more together on full moons. I'm much less likely to do something crazy." Jake continued.

"Well, that will be useful." Travis admitted.

"Will and Georgia and their pack, the Alphas, also taught me how to maneuver and fight. It works better when there is more than one, but I know a lot more how to defend myself in my wolf form." Jake finished.

"And that is what we sent you to Chicago hoping for, so job well done." I complimented then asked, trying not to sound nervous, "Do you want to move there, be part of their pack?"

"Nah, my life is here, in Omaha, and I'm not an Alpha. They did offer, and they left the invitation open. They also said if we need help, we could call them." Jake said bashfully.

I was pleased to hear all that. It seemed like we had gotten all we could have hoped for and more from Jake's time in Chicago. My anxiety started to calm down until…

"There was one other thing, and it was kind of a big thing." Jake added.

"Oh, what happened?" I asked, trying to again hide my trepidation.

"The Alphas took me to meet a guy named Michael Carpenter. Apparently, he's some sort of friend of the pack and part of the whole scene there in Chicago. He's got a big house and a place for me to sleep, I was doing a lot of couch surfing for childcare, and he had a lot of kids and needed help looking after them." Jake started.

"You know, I'd be happy to pay for a hotel for you if you ever want to go back. You didn't have to couch surf." I said, feeling bad because I felt like I had been stingy.

"Oh thanks, but it's cool. I had money. I could have gotten my own place if I wanted. Couch surfing meant I was closer and learned more faster. Also, why waste money if you don't have to?" Jake replied generously.

"Is this Michael Carpenter also a werewolf?" Travis asked getting us back on topic.

"No." Jake said.

"Well what is he?" I asked.

"I'm not really sure. They never really explained that to me. He needs to walk with a cane. He's really old, like in his forties. He's also apparently a successful contractor. Builds houses, small office complexes, restaurants. Flips stuff. Seemed to be making a pretty decent living. He's really nice." Jake described.

I was in my forties.

"So, what happened?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even for a new reason.

"Well, the first night I'm sleeping there, I wake up in the middle of the night." Jake starts.

"Okay." Travis says.

"This is the weird part. I get woken up by this singing. It's like some sort of really loud choir, except, like no one else can hear it. But I know I need to get up. So, I get out of bed in my t-shirt and long shorts. I find myself moving through the house toward the singing and I can see a light, like, literally, through the walls." Travis stopped telling his tale to take a deep breath.

"Through the walls?" I ask.

"Yes. I know. It's weird. Through the walls. I get to this spot on the top floor that just looks like hallway, but then the wall opens up. Inside, there is this old-fashioned sword, like Sword in the Stone or that Excalibur movie you showed me Mr. Carpenter is kneeling before the sword on his knees, like he's praying."

"To the sword?" Travis asks amused and somewhat disbelieving.

"No, not to the sword, I think he's preying to G-d. You should know, Christians like to have a cross around to pray and the sword is a cross. Then Mr. Carpenter turns around and sees me. Then he says, and this is the weird part, he sounds surprised, 'Him Lord?'

"Then, it's like he hears something and nods. He gets up using the cane a lot for help and asks me, 'Have you ever wielded a sword?'

"'Umm, no' I answer him, 'but I have used a baseball bat a whole lot.'

"So now Michael Carpenter wants to teach me how to use a sword. He sees that I'm already pretty good with a bat.

"He says to me, 'Actually, many of the movements are the same. Maybe we can use some of it.'" Jake continues.

"Then he spends the next several weeks putting me through basic for swords. I learned how to eat, how to exercise, how to hold and use a sword. I don't know if I'm some sort of sword master, but I definitely know more, and I drill with my bat every night.'

"That's great." I say and the image of the Ulfberht on my work shelf is burning in my mind and I'm already kicking myself for having not worked harder on the project. That sword will get done and done pronto now. This is about as clear a sign as one can get.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 5: Po Po**

A short time later, the steaks and ribs were finally ready. I was just finishing serving everyone else and was laying a big meaty rib steak and some ribs on a plate for myself. I was hungry, and this magnificent piece of meat represented hours of careful tending and building anticipation. I expected it would be one fine piece of meat.

Then the doorbell went off. Son of a bitch.

I pulled out a tablet and looked at the front doors. There, at my front gate, stood a man wearing a grey cloak. Likely a Warden of the White Council. Wonderful. Was he here to chop off my head?

"Bring me my coat and chest piece." I ordered standing up.

Novi had my gear there quickly.

The Warden kept leaning on the door bell.

I replied through the tablet to the intercom by the door, "I'm coming. Please be patient."

He politely stopped leaning on the bell. He assumed a stance that looked like he was ready for trouble and he knew how to handle himself. His feet were braced shoulder width apart. His hands extended out from under the cloak to hold his staff, planted in the ground, before himself.

I caught some looks under the cloak. He was wearing black fatigue pants, a web belt, some combat boots. Great, was he was here to kick someone's ass? I wonder whose?

Tamar got me in my gear and asked, "Do you want your rifle, gauntlets?"

"No. We have to be reasonable." I replied then added, "I'll go see what our visitor wants. Everyone else stay up here. Novi, keep an eye on the situation, listen for instructions but stay out of sight. Travis, perhaps you could do some counter sniping?"

"Of course." Travis replied and headed off to his prepared high point.

I pulled on my hat and walked down the driveway to the gate and found our apparent Warden waiting patiently.

I took a moment to look him over carefully with my own eyes. His staff was clearly a powerful object of focus. He had others on his person including a sword at his hip. More swords, charming. Seeing the sword made my neck itch. Maybe I should have made some neck armor?

I then looked at him. To my magical sight, he was a mortal human. While Tamar had thrown some shade on my method of judging magical strength, I sensed he had a strong well of power.

He was a young man. I'd guess he was in his early twenties. Still, he was a full Wizard of the White Council, with full magical tutelage, emphasizing magical violence and combat.

"Hello," I asked. "What can I do for you?"

I was feeling the grip on my Glock as I awaited his reply.

"You could ask me in?" He replied.

"You could give me your name?" I came back.

In the limited tutoring I had been getting on the supernatural world, I knew it was reasonable for me to ask for a name before inviting something into my home. The invitee was not obligated to give a true name, but a name they were commonly known by would be polite and polite was next to godliness in the supernatural world.

"That's fair, Sam Levine." The man replied.

"You come to me in the guise of a Warden, do you claim that status?" I asked.

"Yes. I come as a Warden of the White Council." Sam replied.

"What is your business here?" I asked going through a list of fair requests I was allowed to make.

Sam made a grimace. I suspected he had wanted to be inside before he was asked that question, but he answered, "There are complaints that you have broken the laws of magic. Used magic to bind the minds of mortals. Ensnared the minds of young women so you could have your way with them. I have been sent to investigate."

That annoyed me. When I was being hunted by various supernatural creepy crawlies, I was on my own. Now, when I was in a fairly safe place, here was a Warden to pick on my personal peccadillos.

I was also annoyed by the accusation, probably because it had some truth to it. To me there was a world of difference between some glamour and rearranging a person's mental furniture. Obviously, there were those who might not see the fine distinction. Also, considering the situation with Brenda, I was feeling some guilt about the whole thing right now.

Of course, what I did was nothing compared to what a White Court Vampire did and no young women, or men, had ended up dead by my hand. Still, I saw no White Council Wizard led crusade against the White Court of Vampires rolling up. Not surprising the way the Wizards were still licking their wounds after the war with the Red Court. So why were they bothering to pick on me?

The smart move would be to send him away. If he tried to cross my threshold by force, I would have a substantial advantage. Of course, I was trying to think in both magic and non-magical ways. One might expect a White Wizard to be firmly embedded in the magical way of thinking, but they were known to use firearms and modern weapons. I wouldn't put it past him to have a sniper up somewhere. Hence, Travis. Would he try to come ahead?

He remained standing there. It was getting late and the sun was at his back. An errant bit of wind ruffled the bottom of his cloak dramatically.

If I wanted to be hospitable, I could let him come in without an invitation. Without an invitation, when he crossed my threshold, most of his power would stay outside, giving me a clear advantage.

I decided to do something stupid.

I triggered the gate open and gesturing formally said, "Welcome to my home. We were just having dinner. You're welcome to join us."

That surprised him.

"Please follow me." I added and without further ado, I turned and walked back to my table.

I hoped I wasn't doing this because I was eager to get back to my rapidly cooling steak.

When we got back to the picnic, their eyes were all open like saucers. You could have heard a pin drop in the grass.

I made an announcement, "Is there any human here who is held against their will? Who could not leave, and, in fact, does not leave whenever they wish? If so, please let Sam here know. If anyone feels I have used magical means to take advantage of them to have my way, please report it now."

There were several awkward seconds of total silence.

Then I finally said, "Yumi, please prepare a plate of food for our guest." Then turning I added, "Can I get you something to drink?"

We ended up seating Sam across from me with a heaping plate of the delicacies of the day. I had gotten him a beer at his request. I sat down with my steak, ribs and a bottle of the fizzy apple juice I like.

I could see he was nervous about eating what was before him.

Feeling profoundly uncomfortable that a guest at my table might feel unsafe to eat I said, "I give you my word, on my magic, that the food is safe as far as I know. That the intentions of my hospitality are good. If you are worried, we can switch plates."

With that, he shook his head in acceptance and began to eat. I finally started cutting into my steak. My first bite gave me the good news, that, while my meat had cooled a bit, it was still good.

I could see the surprise on Sam's face as he started to take bites.

Almost against his will he said, "This is really good."

"Careful, maybe I'm manipulating your mind to make you feel that way." I said snarkily.

I saw the uncomfortable grimace come back on his face.

"I apologize, that was unworthy. If you want to interview anyone here to validate that they are not being manipulated, help yourself. We obey the laws of magic in this house, so we have nothing to fear. We would send you on your way safe, secure in the knowledge that you bear our appreciation and perhaps be someone who will visit again in friendship." I apologized.

"Thank-you. I appreciate that." Sam replied.

When we were all done, I let the women start to clean up. I turned and looked at our apparent Warden and said, "Let us begin with the obvious, I have a number of young women present. Fewer than I would have had in the past, but still more than you would likely find in most homes. Partially, that reflects a more modern acceptance of unusual family structures. I have managed to have children with two women. One I have married, the other chooses, for her own reasons to stay here as well. Some of the other women, who clearly have poor taste in men and, yes, I have been dipping in that pool as well. Still, I think you will find that a substantial part of their motivations are the practical and financial advantages of knowing me. I understand there are a number of relationship websites built on the principal of young women willing to share their charming company with older, less desirable gentlemen in exchange for the security and practical considerations such men provide. Though nothing so crude as a direct purchasing as their physical services for money is going on here.

"Also, many of the women present have no romantic relationship with me.

"Please, look around. Talk. Do you need more than that?" I finished.

I had clearly decided to play along. This didn't mean I had completely rolled over and was ready, should he so decide, to let him chop my head off. In a direct confrontation, my odds weren't good. I'd learned a lot from Novi and Tamar about how to use magic and defend myself since we finished with Chebelforth, and their training was much of why I wouldn't write myself out the equation if it came to violence, but that was likely still not nearly as good as having been trained since I was a child. Sam was a powerful, well trained, well equipped full Wizard.

Still, I had my advantages. I had invited Sam in under the Doctrine of Hospitality. For Sam to violate that Doctrine would be bad on many levels. I also knew I had Novi, who was keeping out of sight. I'd bet on Novi in most one on one fights with a young White Council Wizard. Protecting me in my home was Novi's primary franchise. I did know that it wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility that Novi would decide to screw that job up on purpose. So, I had Travis on the roof ready to turn Sam off like a light.

I also had Jake nearby with a baseball bat. Then there was Tamar, who had her knife and pistol on her person. Tamar had all too recently given me a very clear demonstration what she could do with that knife.

Lastly, I had a pistol in my hand with bullets that might just surprise a White Council Wizard. I knew many of those Wizards had defenses against bullets. I knew my bullets had the potential to pierce a lot of defenses. If this all went south, we'd get a really useful real-world test.

"Thank-you that should be enough." Sam said, somewhat surprised I was being so friendly.

I introduced Sam around. He made a point of sitting with Yumi at the picnic table for a while.

He asked Yumi questions like, "Are you here of your own free will."

To which Yumi replied, "Duh, I leave here most days. If I didn't want to come back, I wouldn't. The other girls who've lived here have all left when they wanted, generally with Doc giving them lots of money and a car. For now, it's really convenient for me to be here. I have much better options for my degree than I would in student housing. Practically, I'm not racking up huge student loans since I have no living expenses. Most of the people I go to school with would swap places with me in a heartbeat, including the straight guys."

"Which brings me to the next question, are you having a sexual relationship?" Sam asked ever so awkwardly.

"That's really none of your business, but yes." Yumi answered.

"That seems kind of unusual. He seems to have a lot of girlfriends?" Sam persisted.

"Yes, he does, and I know it. Still, if this was the other way around, would you ask the same question?" Yumi challenged.

"I don't get your meaning?" Same replied confused.

"If Doc was a crazy hot model and I was some college guy, would it seem so weird that I was willing to hang around, considering the practical benefits, and be happy to get a chance to hop in the sack from time to time? Even if she had a few other guys too?" Yumi explained.

"I suppose I wouldn't, but your analogy breaks down in several places. First, do you really see your host as a 'crazy hot model' and I would imagine a young woman as attractive as yourself would have a lot more options than that supposed college boy." Sam continued to probe.

"This is kind of embarrassing." Yumi began clearly feeling put upon to discuss such personal matters.

"I'm sorry to pry, but I represent certain authorities who are concerned you are being taken advantage of and wish to make sure everyone is safe. I promise I wouldn't be asking these questions otherwise." Sam explained.

I knew Sam was gently exploring her mind while he asked his questions. I was watching on both levels to make sure he didn't do anything to Yumi's brain.

I added, when Yumi seemed unwilling to go forward, "I respect the authorities he represents. While I know you're safe, we have to help to answer this officer's questions, so he can go on and make other people safe. If he makes you very uncomfortable, we can stop, but otherwise please answer his questions. For me." I added.

I could tell that what I just said really surprised Sam.

"Fine." Yumi answered, still clearly feeling put upon, "First of all, I'm not like some girl from fifty years ago whose going to college to find a man and get married. I'm there to learn and prepare myself for a career in my chosen field. If I wasn't with Doc, I'd probably use some guy for some physical release sometimes, but I'm not really looking for a husband. Most college women I know aren't.

"As to your questions, yes. I do think Doc is hot. Yes, I know he's not a total male model, but he's actually pretty chiseled under that coat of his. Yes, there are plenty of boys at school who would be very happy to hop in the sack with me, but they are boys. Also, some of those boys would likely want to hurt me, a lot of college women end up beaten, raped and murdered. Most of those college boys would also just want a single night in the sack. The few who might want more? I don't want more. So, they aren't the most practical solution either.

"Doc is a Man, with a capital M. He's like a modern-day Mr. Darcy. Yes, I know I'm not going to be his Elizabeth and, to be honest, I don't want to be. But if you asked most young women, would you like to have an affair with Mr. Darcy for a year or two, they would say 'Heck Yeah!' I know I do. But the fact that he's so successful is hot. The fact that he's in demand is hot. The fact that I know I'm physically very safe is hot. The fact that I know how gentle he is and that he would never hurt me is hot. If you knew how good he was in bed, you'd know that's hot too." Yumi answered with a clear expression on defiance on her face.

I happened to know Yumi had a very similar conversation with her Mother several times. I particularly liked her endorsement of my in-bed skills. My ego was quite gratified.

"Okay, I think I have enough. Thank-you. Sorry if I've caused you any discomfort." Sam said, clearly having had enough and getting up from the table.

"Doc, do you need anything else?" Yumi said.

"No and thank-you very much." I replied.

Yumi came to me. I gave her hug and we kissed briefly. Then she went off to help the other women finish cleaning up. That made sense, they would be cleaning up into her kitchen and Yumi was very territorial about her kitchen.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 6: Détente**

"Do you wish to speak to anyone else?" I asked.

"No, I think I have what I need." Sam replied, clearly relieved to be done with the very awkward conversation.

I had used the time Sam was paying attention to Yumi to slip a probe into him. Very small, very light. However, I learned Sam believed he was whom he said he was. Either that, or he was very able to deceive, but that seemed unlikely.

"Perhaps we can take a walk around the grounds. I'll give you a brief tour and, if you have any additional questions, you can ask me?" I offered.

"I would like that." Sam replied.

With that, I sent a message to Travis that he could get off the roof and have his much-delayed dinner. I felt guilty that Travis' steak would have gone cold and have to be re-warmed. It would still be good, but re-warmed is never as good as straight off the grill. The sacrifices we must all make for security and diplomacy.

At first our tour was quiet. Aside from me saying the occasionally meaningless bit like, "Those are my walls, they surround the whole property." and "That's the shed where we keep grounds maintenance equipment, like the mower."

Finally, I asked, "Did you get everything you needed, or do you need to investigate more?"

After a moment he replied, "No, I think I have enough."

"Care to share your findings with me? I think I'm understandably curious." I asked.

Rather than answering the question I asked he asked, "Why are you reducing the number of women in your home now? Is it from a sense of guilt?"

I was a bit taken aback by his question and answered a bit more honestly than I might've. "Yes, but not in the sense you mean."

"Oh, this should be good, please explain?" He replied, and I could hear a bit of skepticism in his voice.

"I've been promiscuous for many years. As I got more money, I got more promiscuous. I had a lot of girlfriends off site, on site and a lot of one-night stands. I lucked out. I could have found I left a lot of children behind. Ruined a lot of lives.

"I did get lucky and found the right woman and now we're married. However, not before I managed to get a second woman pregnant. Whatever you think, I do care for all the women I'm with. Especially those who are with me for a long time. So that second woman, now she can't go off and have the kind of husband and life she should have."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Mostly because she's still in love with me and that's too convenient. That means I can keep her here and look after the child. However, she deserves better than to be my live-in girlfriend on the side, always second best, but it is her choice. If I was just a rich businessman, I'd be tough, throw her out. Not because it would be better for me, but because it would be better for her. But because her child lives in our little magic world too, he would be a target. Once that happened, I realized I didn't need a lot of women and sex. So, I've already stopped the one-night stands. All the outside girlfriends have been broken off. No new onsite girlfriends have been recruited." I answered with a bit of bitterness.

Sam broke down and said, "You may have used a bit of glamour on those women which is not perfectly within the Laws of Magic but is hardly bending them that much. I can see you haven't done anything permanent or damaging to their minds. They clearly still have free will. You aren't physically abusing them or, mostly, keeping them permanently. If we sanctioned every Wizard who put a glamour on himself from time to time to seem more charming or every Witch who used a bit of magic to make herself a touch prettier, there wouldn't be much Council left.

"So, based on what I've seen, I intend to take no action. However, I will be checking in every so often to make sure you are cutting down and not abusing the women present." He pronounced like a judge pronouncing a sentence.

"Did you really come all the way to Omaha just to check on me?" I had to ask.

I think he argued with himself about even answering that question but finally answered, "No, I have a loop I'm taking. I'm checking on a variety of things in different places. You were just a stop on the list."

"Quick beheading and on to other errands?" I quipped.

"You know, we don't take such things lightly. Sometimes it's the only way to protect the public at large. You should know what kind of monsters can develop out there. Somebody with your talents, you stopped at a bit of glamour, but you were right at the edge. Another man, with fewer scruples, which means most of them, where would he stop?" Sam asked, clearly taking a bit of umbrage.

"I see your point." I replied, realizing he was right.

"I grew up here in the United States. I believe in innocent until proven guilty. But there just aren't that many Wizards out there. As it is, if every Wizard on the White Council dropped whatever they were doing and went mad warlock hunting, very successfully, we'd barely make a dent. When I pass judgment, it's not a maybe. It's a horror show.

"I know you resent it that when you were in trouble, you were on your own and when I do show up, it's to judge. But there's only so much left, I assume you heard about the war? There wasn't that much before either. We've been doing what we can to make the world a better, safer place, but we are so few." Sam went on, venting something that clearly upset him.

"As an unsanctioned wielder of magic outside the White Council, I'm sure you can understand my trepidation and natural concern when a Warden comes to my front door. Still, in my head, I understand. In my gut? That's harder. However, I am trying to listen to my head and be pleasant. Sorry if my gut sneaks out sometimes. May I ask, where are you based?" I replied, trying to even things out.

"Oh, I'm based in Miami." Sam replied.

"You got all the way here from Miami in that car?" I asked with some humor.

That got a lopsided smile. "It was a close thing sometimes."

I took Sam to my forge. I don't know why I was showing him my forge, but I gave him a brief tour.

"This is nice. Not a lot of wizards who are into doing things like this. Of course, I'm surprised it hasn't all blown up on you. Especially the gas lines and ovens." He replied surprised.

"I have an understanding with technology." I answered cryptically.

After a moment passed, I made a decision. I pulled out the most recent iteration of the Ulfberht sword and showed it to him. "I've been working on this."

He took the none too impressive failed sword, held it up and inspected it respectfully. Then said, "I don't know much about making swords, but it seems like you've got part it."

It was a generous comment.

"I've noticed you wear a sword." I ventured.

His right hand went to the hilt.

"May I see it?" I asked.

Clearly, he needed to think for a minute. On one level, I knew he was not happy I asked. But, after a few moments of self-consulting, he nodded his head ruefully, then pulled out the blade and offered it to me to review.

I took the blade carefully. It wasn't an Ulfberht. It reminded me of an Italian spadone or spada longa. It had a long smooth blade, clearly representing a high level of craftsmanship. I could feel and see the magic in it. While all magic enchantment may fade with time, this blade had the magic embedded deep within it's very hard metal and would likely keep it's dweomer for a long, long time.

As I examined it, I got a sense of the blade's enchantment. Clearly the magic kept the blade supernaturally sharp and strong, but there was something else.

"Does this blade break other enchantments?" I asked.

"Yes, it does." Sam replied taken aback. "I'm surprised you worked that out just by looking at it."

"Lucky guess." I replied.

I had looked the blade over for some time. There was a world of forge craft and magical technique that had gone into that blade that I certainly wouldn't get just by a brief examination. On the other hand, seeing a sample like this was very instructive. The blade represented centuries, perhaps millennia, of the magical sword making art. Thousands of choices tried and discarded. The choices selected, that I could see, were very instructive. Reluctantly, I gave Sam his blade back.

"One thing that always bothers me is that I don't really know the rules the White Council operates under. It's not like they have a handy website with a FAQ. It leaves someone like me constantly afraid that I might cross a rule by accident. Perhaps you could explain them? Is there a document?" I finally humbled myself to ask.

"Oh okay," Sam replied, clearly surprised. "I suppose I just take for granted that everyone knows the Laws, but you're right, it's not like they're published anywhere. They are pretty straightforward, and I think it would be pretty clear to any decent person when they were being crossed. Still, I'd be happy to go over them with you."

Then Sam spent about ten minutes explaining the Laws of Magic and answering my questions while I recorded the whole thing on my cell.

"How long do you intend to be in Omaha?" I asked when he was done.

"Just a few more days." He replied casually.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I continued.

"This was my first stop." He replied.

"I have some nice places I could recommend you to?" I offered.

"That's okay, I have a reservation." He turned down my help.

With that I walked him back down to the gate. I cycled the gate and Sam walked out to his car parked across the street. As the gate closed, Sam got in his dilapidated Mustang and tried to start it. The engine wouldn't turn over.

I cycled the gate again and went out. I could tell Sam was embarrassed.

"Open the hood." I instructed.

Sam opened the hood. I used my cell phone light to look around.

"Turn it over." I said.

Sam turned it over, but it wouldn't catch.

"Let go." I said.

He stopped. I manually adjusted the choke and said, "Try again."

Sam did, and with a few coughs and some grey smoke later, the car turned over.

I came up to the driver's window, "I know some good mechanics."

With a wry smile Sam replied, "Thanks, maybe another time." Then he rolled away.

I went back into the house.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: As I write this, I have just been introduced to the Dresden Files RPG. While I don't have the opportunity to play, I have neither the time or friends to engage in such an activity, sigh, the idea of accessing several semi-canon settings outside of Chicago was very exciting. While I was somewhat disappointed by Baltimore, the Paranet Papers book has thus far been gold. I've also, quite surprisingly, really appreciated the ideas about world building.

I notice that both the RPG and I used the concept of "seemings," clearly a case of parallel development as I did not learn it from them and they couldn't have gotten it from me.

One interesting thing I noted was about the Laws of Magic. I have been criticized for depicting the use of magic by my protagonist as a way to seduce women. Essentially, the critics were upset that he was violating the Third Law of Magic. However, the RPG reminded me of a moment in Storm Front when Harry had made a love potion. One must point out, Harry made said potion while under a Doom of Damocles and while under intense supervision from very suspicious Wardens.

I would say the seemings my protagonist deploys are on the same order as that potion. Clearly Harry doesn't see that as a violation.

At the same time, no one has noted the repeated violations by my protagonist of the Fourth Law. Still, his violations there seem to me to have the same defenses that Harry deployed about his near shave with the third. Essentially, that the intrusions are small and not about denying his victims free will.

 **Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 7: The Curious Incident of the Notebook in the Night**

I went back into the house. Of course, everyone was still in the kitchen.

As soon as I walked in, everyone started speaking at once. Well, everyone except Travis who was still finishing his steak.

After a few moments of confusion, everyone settled down, and with a look from Tamar, they let her speak.

"I think everyone would like to understand why you did what you did tonight?"

I took a deep breath, pulled off my hat and looked around. It wasn't like this moment was unexpected. Then I replied, "Perhaps others here see this differently, but the way I saw it at the gate was that I had, basically, two choices.

"I could have been a jerk. Not let him in. Then done my best to slow him down and deny his investigation. That would have been the safe, smart play."

There was general muttering in agreement.

"However, that would have looked guilty. It would also have just encouraged more and more attention and enmity we don't want. I know we have nothing to hide. By acting the way I did, we get the benefit of the doubt. Maybe we even start to develop a friendship, an alliance. When the Warden left here tonight, we had a measure of trust and respect. That's all good.

"Also, we took reasonable countermeasures. Sorry Travis. If things had gone south, we were hardly defenseless."

After that, there was a lot of talking. Yumi got me a slice of apple pie and some tea. I answered all the questions I could politely.

Other than Tamar and Novi, most only had a vague understanding of what a Warden was. After a couple hours of patient conversation and answering of questions. People had calmed down. Brenda had taken Caleb to bed first. Travis and Jake took their families home a little while later. Yumi and Kaylee had gone to bed.

That left Tamar, Novi and me sitting around the table. I was working on my third slice of pie.

Tamar began, "A hundred years ago in Vienna, our people didn't get along so well with the Wardens. The Wardens that patrolled that area reflected the general European culture. They had a nice dollop of prejudice to go with the suspicion all Wardens seem to have for non-White Council magic users."

"This Warden was Sam Levine from Miami. I think we're okay there." I replied.

"I think my Father would have liked to meet a Warden named Sam Levine. Might have avoided some ugly things. Well, better late than never." Tamar replied wistfully.

There was still something I felt that I hadn't had the courage to say out loud. When Yael was born, things changed inside me. I had always lived in two worlds. The normal, mundane world was far from perfect, but there were police, courts and some measure of order. I knew it wasn't like that everywhere and I believed in gun rights because I knew it wasn't even like that all the time here. However, people can have the general expectation of living a life free from violence and horror.

Unfortunately, I also lived in a second world, the world of magic. As far as I knew, the world of magic was in a Hobbesian state of nature, a place where the powerful preyed on the weak without fear of consequence.

For the first part of my life I had ignored the nature of the magical world, no doubt protected both physically by my parents and by ignorance, so I could enjoy a brief time without feeling completely paranoid. Lately, I had come to accept the reality of the magical world. Focused as I have been on just surviving, I hadn't questioned the way things were, just dealt with it.

Now that I was a parent, I was realizing that wasn't good enough. I didn't want to bequeath to my children a world red in tooth and claw. I wanted something better. Maybe the White Council wasn't perfect, but they were a whole lot better than a lot of what else was out there. Maybe the system of Wardens was hardly perfect, I hardly liked the idea of a single individual tromping around the countryside declaring, "I Yam Da Law!" Followed by chopping off someone's head.

However, that wasn't the way Sam had conducted himself this evening. If I wanted better, I had to be part of the solution. Part of having Wardens behave better, was to behave better towards them. It was a small step, but an important one on the path to having a more civilized system of Wardens, courts and even democratic leadership. All hopefully in a world where those that preyed on the innocent were forced to the margins or destroyed.

I wasn't going to get any further down that path tonight, so with my third slice of pie finished and all conversation winding down, I took Tamar to bed for a very late, past my bedtime, getting to bed.

We changed into night things. Tamar checked a sleeping Yael, who was getting better at sleeping thought the night each day. Then we got into bed.

Tamar wasn't ready for us to begin being together as husband and wife again yet, but that didn't mean she couldn't spoon up to me, that my arm couldn't envelope her protectively, that my hand couldn't slip up under her nighty, across her smooth, soft stomach, to her wonderful breasts and hold her close. It took me only moments to fall asleep.

It was good to take a family trip with just Tamar, Yael and I in the RV. We were visiting a number of National Parks. Despite being exposed to a wide variety of the most amazing natural wonders and scenery, Yael liked the prairie dogs best. Sigh. We had stopped in to a Costco along the way for some necessities because their big parking lots were convenient, and I liked the hot dogs. Unfortunately, the RV was diesel, so I couldn't fuel up.

Suddenly, between us and the RV there was a giant monster! It reminded me of Travis when we met, only twice as big! I had left most of my gear in the RV, I had only my pistol.

I tried to yell to Tamar to get Yael to safety. I drew my pistol and started to shoot. I couldn't hit the thing. Then the gun jammed. Then the creature smacked me with a fist bigger than my body. As I sailed through the air, I knew I would die when I hit the ground. I could also see that despite running as fast as she could, the creature was going to easily run Tamar down. Then Tamar got hit by a one-ton pickup truck.

I woke up. It was 4:57am. I turned off the alarm, got up, showered and got dressed.

I had made up with Yumi some time ago that she didn't need to wake up at four to have breakfast ready for me at five every day. If she had breakfast ready for me by seven, that was plenty early enough.

I liked to have a while each morning that was quiet. Where I was the only person in the house awake.

The day before had been a message that I should get this sword I'd been working on finished. I intended to do so.

Still, I took out that star shaped piece of metal for a few moments and tried to figure it out. I had other objects that were magical power sources. Clearly this piece of metal was a magical power source. Still nothing I had done to it had brought out it's power. I didn't want to show it to Novi. I had talked to Tamar.

"I thought you would know what to do?" She asked disappointed. Clearly, whatever else she had been taught by her father, it hadn't included forge craft or how to unlock this item.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll figure it out." I said.

Tamar smiled and stopped worrying about it. 

Each morning in the forge after that, I worked and worried the piece of metal. So far, nothing had been revealed. It seemed like nothing would be revealed today either.

Setting aside the metal heirloom, I took the clearly not going to work out sword I was working on, heated it up and folded it over several times. Had breakfast. I made sure the metal was beaten into a solid billet, had lunch and left the billet in the forge for a good long time. Then I pulled the billet out, worked it with the grinder a bit only to see that the layers were separating so the billet was useless. It was dinner time. That was a wonderful way to waste the day.

Yumi made us a wonderful dinner of tempura vegetables and fish. I was a bit sullen because of my wasted day. Still, while the billet had been in the forge, I had written up the Laws of Magic and published them on the Paranet, anonymously of course. So, something of use had been done today.

Then I got a phone call. I love getting phone calls. Can you hear my sarcasm? They always work out so well.

Kaylee handed me the house phone and I answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Detective Bishop. Perhaps you remember me, we've spoken in the past?"

Indeed we had. Once upon a time, I had spoken to the Omaha Police Department about becoming a credentialed, volunteer police officer. While I routinely violated a wide variety of firearms laws, I had hoped that as a credentialed police officer, I could move some of that activity over into the legal world, and, more importantly, reduce risk. The actual person I had spoken with was Detective Bishop. He was the department's effective chief technology officer and technology crime investigator. He had seen through my seeming and clearly had felt I was something of a silly poseur. Still, he had been polite as he declined my offer. I had left the conversation with a standing offer to help if they ever needed it. I had not expected to ever be contacted. I had been correct till today.

Two days, two different kinds of law enforcement. It must be police season.

"I remember you well Detective. I had given up on ever hearing from you. I'm so glad you called." I replied.

"Yeah, we really hadn't needed anything up to today," he began to reply, and I knew he would have been happy if that need had never come, "But we have this laptop that we need to get opened up. We haven't had any success. I've asked around town and I've been directed to you several times. Considering your standing offer, I decided to give you a call. See if your offer is still good."

"Of course my offer is still good. Would you like to bring the laptop by?" I asked wincing at using the term "laptop" as I so preferred "notebook," but the point of the exercise was diplomacy.

"The laptop is evidence, so it can't leave the station." Detective Bishop replied.

"So, you want me to come there?" I asked.

"If you don't mind?" He replied.

Considering it was after dinner time I said, "I could come some time tomorrow? Maybe next week? When would be good for you?"

"Actually, this is a very time sensitive situation, could you come tonight?" He requested.

"Well certainly. Just give me a moment to pull my coat on and gather some things. Where is the laptop?" I offered.

"Oh good, it's at our Central Police Headquarters downtown. Do you know where that is?" He asked.

We had met at the North East precinct station, so this question wasn't a complete insult, still…

"Yes Detective, I'll be right down."

After that I got up, made my apologies to Tamar and gathered my things. I had some notebook computers and other gear I kept around for situations like this in some satchels.

I collected up my gear, jumped in the pickup and headed downtown. Of course, I knew where Central Police Headquarters was. It wasn't like Omaha was that big or my smart phone couldn't find directions. Still, I knew where CPH was because it was just a bit northwest of the Old Market District.

The Old Market District was an inauthentic area where a number of old industrial plants and warehouses had been repurposed into trendy shops and restaurants. I didn't much care for them. The prices were high, the atmosphere pretentious and the quality low. The places were full of people trying to appear cooler and hipper then they really were. Of course, before I'd moved to my current residence, when I was humble young information consultant, I'd owned a loft condo in the Old Warehouse District.

If one didn't know better, one might think the Old Warehouse District was the sort of old neighborhood where one might find some sort of magic friendly business. If they existed, I hadn't seen 'em yet and I looked.

The Old Warehouse District did have some nicer places. It had my favorite all you can eat sushi place. That all you can eat economy had become less important when I had more money. Paying $15 to eat all the so-so sushi you want sounds good on a budget. When it no longer hurt to spend a thousand dollars on a night of sushi eating or borrow a free corporate jet to fly to LA or San Fran for an even more expensive evening, it was less important. Now I had Yumi at home.

Still the Old Warehouse District was a nice place to go for a stroll. I had taken Tamar and Brenda there several times for a walking around. They had carriage rides which were pricey, but very pleasant.

I pulled up to the CPH. It had adequate guest parking at this hour. I walked across the plaza and the creepy metal statue of police officers helping a little girl. The building was an ugly big rectangular honeycomb-looking thing made of form-follows function grey concrete and brown glass.

I passed through the front doors to see the receptionist officer, he wasn't a desk sergeant, sitting behind a desk in a shabby reception area. The space where people waited was dominated by an ATM machine that charged excessively high fees. Since most people who came were seeking reports or to pay fees and then got surprised by the fact that the police wouldn't accept credit cards, the ATM got a lot of trade. I'm sure the department got a cut at the expense of their reputation.

I patiently waited my turn. There was a steady stream of people who came to this place to file reports, request copies of old reports, pay fines, ask questions and other tedious bureaucratic police/government functions. Many who came were not what one might call, "high function" people. Many were stubborn. Many of the problems complicated. The line moved slowly. I waited patiently.

Finally, when I got to the front of the line, the officer put a "Temporarily Closed," sign in the window and left without explanation.

I waited. The people behind me waited. As time passed, some behind me lost patience and left, more people came in. The line grew.

Twenty-three minutes later the officer returned and asked, without apology, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to see Detective Bishop. He asked me to come." I replied.

"I'll call him. Please have a seat and wait." He answered brusquely.

I had noticed that a large number of transactions through the window with this officer included finding a seat and waiting. I looked around, found the least dirty seat and sat.

Twenty-seven minutes later Detective Bishop came through the door from the blessed interior parts of the building.

"What took you so long?" He asked.

"I have been here for almost an hour waiting." I answered.

Detective Bishop closed his eyes, leaned his head back and nodded in frustration then he looked at me and said, "I apologize for the wait."

Then he took out a business card and handed it to me. "If you need to come again in the future, just call me please."

Taking the card, I replied, "Will do."

Then Detective Bishop led me back through the door into the police side of the building. We passed through the metal scanner. It noticed nothing despite the fact my Glock and hatchet were on my person, among other things. I had been ready that if had started to peep, I would have taken it out.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 8: Passages in the Police Station**

As Detective Bishop led me back through the station, I heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Good Evening Detective Bishop."

The detective and I turned to look and there was Rabbi Kaitzman.

I knew Rabbi Kaitzman a bit. He was the Rabbi and leader of the Chabad House, a Jewish Temple and Outreach center here in Omaha. I had known, vaguely, that Rabbi Kaitzman, despite having a very busy schedule, had done the necessary paperwork and taken the necessary classes to be a volunteer Police Chaplain. It was a selfless act of charity and I knew, at times, very stressful.

"Good evening, Rabbi, nice to see you." Detective Bishop replied.

"Yisroel, is that you? I hope you're not in trouble." Rabbi Kaitzman said with a smile turning to me. He always called me by my Hebrew name, Yisroel.

"Good evening Rabbi. Perhaps you could suggest a good attorney or visit and provide me with wise counsel and comfort." I replied, taking his joke another step.

"For an attorney, you'll need to speak to Jim," my attorney, Jim, was a mutual acquaintance, "but you can always come over for some learning and a meal. In fact, we have a study dinner each Tuesday evening. You're welcome to come."

Detective Bishop, perhaps still a step behind our conversation, blurted out, "Oh no, he's not under arrest Rabbi. He's here to help with an investigation."

"Following your fine example sir." I added.

"Good, good. Can we expect you on Tuesday?" Rabbi Kaitzman asked.

"I'll definitely try." I replied.

"Good, see you then." Rabbi Kaitzman replied and walked away.

"Umm, this way." Detective Bishop said gesturing down the hall.

I turned and followed. I would probably end up going to the good Rabbi's home. His wife would cook. The food she made was simple stuff, inexpensive ingredients. Still, she had a talent and the food was just incredibly good. While it was not required or expected, I would always throw a sawbuck into the collection box as I didn't want them to grow broke feeding me.

The good detective led me to a room, too sparse to call an office. It had bare concrete walls, a one-way mirror and a table. On the table was a non-descript Toshiba notebook computer.

"Am I to be questioned?" I asked.

"No, hopefully you'll be able to question this laptop. We've given it the best we have. If you're not successful, we have to kick it up to the State Police, who will probably decline, as they come to us for help most of time in this sort of situation, and that means the FBI." The detective answered.

It was left unsaid, but the way he had said "FBI" implied that was an outcome profoundly to be avoided.

"Of course." I replied.

The laptop was plugged in and, when I opened it, found I had a normal Windows opening prompt.

I went to work on it the way I would in any similar situation. Getting past a Windows password was not a substantial hacking challenge. I suspect Detective Bishop had done similar things.

I was able to get in after a few minutes. However, I noticed there was a big chunk of memory on the hard drive that was not available. It sort of looked like a dual-boot system. A dual-boot is generally a computer running multiple operating systems on different partitions in the hard drive. It wasn't uncommon to find a computer with Windows in one partition and a flavor of UNIX, like Linux, in another.

However, in that situation, there should be some way to access the log in prompt for the other partition. There wasn't.

I started digging around, trying to find the partition and the second boot. It was like it wasn't there.

Detective Bishop had been sitting behind me watching for the two hours it had taken me to get to this point and decided to volunteer, "That's where I got to. Where that other memory is hiding we could not find."

I jumped a little as he had been so quiet, I was surprised.

"Then let's take it to the next step." I replied.

I pulled out a memory stick and inserted it in the Toshiba. I also connected one of my notebooks via a USB cord.

I went to work attacking the machine that way.

Several hours later and it was well past three when Detective Bishop, watching me continue to thrash uselessly on the Toshiba announced, "You have my card. Let me know if you find anything. I'm going to take a nap on my office couch."

"Certainly." I replied.

With that, a clearly exhausted Detective Bishop got up and stumbled away.

That Detective Bishop was willing to leave me alone with notebook reflected that he had no confidence I would succeed. I had been applying my OCD fixation and hadn't gotten up for hours. I was determined to succeed. I wanted the police credential. More importantly, I'd been embarrassed before Detective Bishop once already. My pride didn't want that to become twice. My pride was also engaged as to not be able to crack this box open would mean someone else was a better, smarter, hacker than me. I was not prepared to admit that.

Another hour of fruitless effort and I decided to take a break. I wedged the door of the room open, so it wouldn't lock me out. I went down the hallway, found and used a bathroom. I washed my face, then bought a Coke and several bags of chips from the vending machines.

After sitting back down and taking a sip of the Coke. I looked at the problem again. To someone looking at me from the outside, it would look like I was just sipping Coke and eating chips. Inside, I was reviewing each piece of information I had learned through the evening. Mostly, the information was negative, what hadn't worked, but even in negative information there is the positive, what I knew had not worked and need not be done again. Possibilities had been eliminated. Whenever the all the likely possibilities had been eliminated, whatever remained, no matter how unlikely, had to be the case.

Then I had an idea. This task fell about as far as I could imagine into the technical side of my life. Up till now, I hadn't even considered applying magic to it. For good reason. While I was generally able to use magic without even advanced tech, like my smart phone and notebook going pop, it was less smooth than one might imagine. I'd been making various technology providers wealthy for years buying frequent replacements for my high-tech gadgets. If anything, this had gotten worse after the Kappa as evidenced by that building in Chicago. I was lucky that the Svartalve, Mr. Guna, had shown me how to insulate items from magic somewhat. Still, my last helmet upgrade had more to do with the previous one going pop then technology change.

So, my natural inclination here was to keep magic as far away from the conversation as possible. Failure would be bad. Turning the Toshiba into a door stop would be much, much worse.

Still, it was worth a look. I took a deep breath, prepared myself, and looked at the Toshiba with magic. I wanted to be very careful, just look, everything else kept safely inside and no new doorstops.

When I looked at the Toshiba, it was obvious. There was a magic lock on it! That was ingenious! My next question was, who could do this?

A White Council wizard couldn't be in the same room with this computer. The magic lock wasn't complicated. I'm sure Sam could have done it, but not before he turned the notebook into a doorstop. I knew there were things out in the world, like the Fae and Novi, who could do tech and magic together, but this felt human, powerful Fae would have placed a lock that was very complex. I thought I was the only human who could do magic and tech. Obviously, there was at least one other.

With a bit of effort, mostly being careful not to brick the computer, I was able to undo the simple magic knot holding the data hidden.

After that, I found the Linux partition, opened it up and looked.

It was a night for surprises. On the partition, I found something I had not expected.

I was used to reading back financial files from my years servicing my various clients. This was different. On the computer was the entire history of the White Council's financial transactions and all of their accounts. I know that sounds like a lot, but it really isn't. Every transaction in the history of the New York Stock Exchange is probably a smaller file than that movie you just downloaded.

I knew the White Council was an old-fashioned group of guys. I was a little surprised they had even committed their records to a machine. Still, it also made sense. They had been at war up until recently, a war whose outcome was not always clear. Further, while I didn't know exactly where their headquarters was, one could not rule out that it might be overrun at some point. Having a copy of one's records offsite was a basic, basic data storage technique.

I knew the White Council had non-Wizard allies and servitors whom they had obviously trusted to transcribe and store the information onto a computer. Also, the savings in time and energy over trying to keep everything on paper could not be overstated. Lastly, no matter how much the White Council might have wanted to not do so, we now lived in an ever more computerized world. Some simple, slow transactions could still be done by paper, but most now needed to be done online, particularly if one wanted them to be timely.

I also knew money was power. This money represented a major piece of the White Council's power, but that wasn't the biggest piece. Knowing what the White Council had been doing with it's money, there could be limitless embarrassments, losses and worse in there. This was a big deal. A bigger deal than I could give to the OPD.

I had felt around the room a few minutes after I had entered. There was a camera recording my activities to a hard drive behind the one-way mirror. With a snap of my finger, that camera, the hard drive and I would later find out, most of the OPD server system would be so much modern art.

I took out some thumb drives. All the White Council info went on a blank one. Then the computer was wiped and formatted. Then I used a second thumb drive to put information on the senior senator of a liberal western coastal state. Apparently, despite his pious pronouncements, he had been taking money from China to support their interests over ours and had been using that money to support a smuggling network that included drugs, guns, explosives and human sex slaves. What an idealist. He had gone on record as supporting more legalized immigration and gun control.

I actually had lots of info like the good Senator's. Unfortunately, my duty to my clients was to report it to them, not publish. It was up to my clients to decide how to handle it. One of the financial chieftains in Omaha was a well-known liberal sympathizer. Guess what he decided to do with this information?

I had dozens of similar files on various Congressmen, high government officials and titans of industry. Also, for every one of those big wheels, dozens of small fry, state and local officials. Even if I was willing to dump all this info to the world, there would be huge risk that it would get back to me. I wasn't ready to become the self-servicing real Wikileaks.

But this was a place where I could dump the responsibility down to Detective Bishop and let him sort it out. They needed to find something on the laptop that seemed like it was important enough to be well hid. Now they did.

I called the good Detective. He was up, what a surprise. "I have that computer open. You can come review it at your leisure."

"Okay, I'm a little busy. I'll be down in a minute." He replied, clearly harried.

When he showed up an hour later, I showed what I had found. I had cleaned things up on the registry, so it would look like I had just opened the partition and left it untouched.

He had no compunctions and opened up the memory. The data, laid bare, left little to the imagination about the identity and activities of that senior Senator.

"Whoa. This is a big deal. Good job." He replied.

"I'm happy to be of service. If you ever need additional help, please don't hesitate to call on me." I replied.

"Okay, thanks." He answered.

"We did discuss something about credentials in our last conversation. I would still be interested." I reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. I'll look into that." He answered, and I knew he had nothing to offer beyond that as he had not looked into at all up till now. I also knew he was busy.

"Do you know where this laptop came from?" I asked.

I think he answered before he thought, "It was found in a stolen car."

"Did they catch the owner?" I asked.

"No." He replied.

"Well, I'm ready to go home, unless you need me for something else?" I asked.

"Oh, of course. Let me take you outside." The detective answered relieved.

Detective Bishop led me out. Shook my hand and went back inside.

I went to my truck, got in and drove home.

When I parked in the garage and got out, I realized it was 4:47am. Great. I went to my bedroom. Turned off the alarm. Showered, changed and went down to my forge.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 9: New Day New Complication**

I put away my computer cracking toys and took the thumb drive with the interesting info down to my forge.

Anyone who was looking for this info would know something else should show up on that notebook. They would figure out I had touched it and then they would be coming here.

Yes, I had left a convincing illusion that I had not accessed the information, but I was sure half the supernatural powers on the planet, well probably, really, all of them would grind me and everyone I loved into compost to get what was on this thumb drive. Novi would be so happy.

I locked the thumb drive in my deep safe and went back to work. Either I would be dead in a matter of hours or I would figure something out. I tended to think best when I was working hard.

I decided to follow the previous day's schedule. I worked with Tamar's legacy. Got nowhere. Then I broke up the metal of my latest failed Ulfberht and tried a different technique. I would try and turn the metal into crucible damascus. Once I had all the pieces of the failed billet broken down into little bits and placed in a crucible, well lined with whiteout, away the metal went into my forge.

It would take a while to melt all that high-quality steel, so I took a moment to lean back in my comfy chair in the nice warm forge, after eating a nice mid-morning snack. I began to drift.

I was a woman. I was running. I had been sniffing around trying to find some loose change. I'd run into a string on a dark net site generally only used by people on the wiggly.

I'd found that many powerful, ancient and most importantly, very rich magical beings undervalued their computer helpers. Typically, they didn't want to do the work themselves, too much like honest work. So, the grandees ended up underpaying, enslaving and/or mind dominating their computer servants in a way that meant those same servants might not be doing their best work. That meant the computer help made mistakes and mostly, the powerful beings had so much money, in so many places, it would take them a while to notice fifty grand missing and, even if they did, they might have bigger fish to fry.

The string I was working led to the White Council. They were such a bunch of arrogant asses! Like they had any right to tell me how to live my life!

Well they could definitely do without few grand.

Several weeks of 24/7 research and effort to go up my string and I had accessed the White Council's poorly defended networks. I found a big file that looked like it might be banking records. When I had downloaded and opened the file, I realized I had the grand prize! It was the White Council's whole damned entire banking records! What a girl could do with that.

I was happy for about five minutes. Then I realized what I had taken was way more important than a few grand. Someone would notice. Someone would be coming. Someone who had serious magical backup and centuries of experience magically torturing things out of people. They would be quite happy to leave me a vegetable or dead.

I ran.

I stole a car. That wasn't hard. I drove to another state, dumped the car, and stole another. I kept going. State by state. I was just starting to think I was safe when I spotted a beat up old mustang had been following me for a couple hundred miles.

My car suddenly started coughing bad. I managed to pull off at the next interchange. I pulled to the side of the road. The mustang pulled in behind me and there was a freaking grey cloaked warden in it!

I jumped out and into the car of a likely looking teenage boy.

"Hey, you give me a ride and I'll give you one?" I offered, letting him see a bit of leg.

"Umm, sure okay." The pimply faced boy replied, clearly struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

The warden tried to follow, but his old car had stalled out and he couldn't get it to go before we were quickly away onto the highway.

That had been close. I'm sure my head and shoulders would have become unacquainted if he'd caught me.

We flew onto the highway and a hundred miles down, pimply boy tried to be a bit too aggressive about demanding me making good on my promise. As if.

My taser explained to his neck that's not how you treat a lady. I left him on the ground with his cell but kept the car and his cash.

I had switched cars a few more times and was a long way from the boy when I pulled into a Sam's Club lot to swap cars. There are lots of good places to swap cars, but Sam's Club is one of the best. Wal Mart is too cheap to have security cameras on most of their lots. I just pull in and wait for someone else to come in with a likely car.

When they lock their car, I steal the code with my "skeleton key." My skeleton key is a scanner/radio/computer device I made. I can steal the fob code, follow the pattern of the car manufacturer, then I have my own fob. I unlock the car after they go inside, get in the car, hit the start button and I'm on my way.

My current car was low on fuel and I was tired and hungry. I was thinking I might get a hot dog inside, then forty winks before I found something to steal.

I had just parked when a big van pulled in behind me.

Actual, freaking, Men in Black start getting out. That was scary, but nothing compared to the guy in the front passenger seat. It was like he was all white, not Caucasian, printer paper white!

Having MiBs coming to get me was scary, but that guy was scary on a whole 'nother level.

I got lucky, the car in front of me suddenly backed out. I burned rubber and clipped their nose as I blasted out of there.

I cried as I drove away, they scared me so bad.

I managed to get away and swapped cars again down the road. I stopped stealing cars and started catching rides with truckers for a while. They were so stupid. Give me a ride for a blow job. Of course. Then, when they demanded the blow job, I'd have them stop at a truck stop.

"Get me something to eat and I'll do it. I want a Big Mac or whatever that truck stop has." They would agree. Then, when they went to get the food, I'd just ditch out and find another trucker.

After doing a few circuits of the country that way, I went back to stealing cars. I didn't see anything for a few days. I was starting to feel a little safe.

I stopped in a total nowhere called Omaha. "A place this boring would be like an anti-magic barrier." I thought to myself.

I found a Costco out in an area that was even more bland and boring than most of Omaha called "La Vista."

I used a recently stolen credit card to fuel up. I liked the car I had at this moment, it was a high-end Toyota Camry. Very plush. This was a good place to steal another car, but I could leave that for after I had used the bathroom and got a hot dog.

I came out an hour later and was actually feeling as close to human as I had been since I started on this crazy situation. Maybe they would all give up on me eventually when they found new things to worry about? A girl could dream.

The dream stopped when I was walking through the Costco parking lot.

The Camry was being towed. There was a blue and white with flashers on next to it talking to the tow truck guy.

The Camry had been identified as stolen. That was bad. The police would be looking at video soon and figure out I was the one who came out of the Camry. I had to be not here right now. Still, it was a situation that could be salvaged. Except for one thing. My bag was in the Camry.

You know, the bag with my taser, key fob device, real wallet, most of my cash and stolen cards and most importantly, my laptop with the data still in it.

I turned and started walking casually in another direction. I had the clothes on my back, a t-shirt, yoga pants, socks and Saucony sneaks. I had a dirty set of underwear in a plastic bag.

There was, at least, one good thing in this disaster. I had the data in my computer totally locked down. I mean, I know my way around a computer, still a serious enough hacker could probably still get in. However, I also had a bit of the wiggly in me. I didn't know how to use it very well, but I could use it around tech. That was something I knew the oh so powerful White Council wizards couldn't. I'd used some of my mojo to put a lock on the laptop too.

I'm sure if I had used that same trick to lock a cabinet, a WC wizard could probably have it open in no time, but a WC wizard could never get close to a laptop. I'm sure no mundane hacker would be able to undo my wiggly lock. As far as I knew, I was one of the few people on the planet who could do both.

As long as the data stayed secure on that laptop, I would be alive. Whoever wanted it would need me to take it off. The trick was, the data had to stay safe.

I found a nearby parking lot. I found a car with unlocked doors, popped the trunk and got in.

I snapped awake. I was back in my forge. Whoa. My head hurt so bad. The sleep had conferred absolutely none of it's normal restorative virtue. If anything, all the stress and fear of the girl in my dream was now in my head.

I got up, took a thousand mgs of ibuprofen and got a big glass of water.

That was no normal dream. I knew it must have some sort of reality in it. Why had it come to me? I had no idea. My magic and hers had gotten pretty intimate on her notebook, not laptop, I just hated when people called notebooks laptops and that girl had been doing it in my own head, it felt like I had been up for days, even though the clock told me it was just getting to be lunch time. Maybe that intimacy had joined us somehow? Was she having dreams about me?

I needed help and I needed to start warning the people around me about the danger they were in. I didn't think I had done anything wrong, but I felt painfully guilty for getting us all into this crazy dangerous situation. So, I got out my cell and was about to call Tamar when it rang.

I looked and saw it was Rebbetzin Kaitzman. I took a deep breath, grateful for the few seconds of reprieve the call meant.

"Hello." I answered the phone.

"Oh good, I caught you. My husband told me he had invited you over for tomorrow night." She explained.

"Yes." I answered.

While I answered, I wondered frantically how would I beg off? The last thing I needed to do now was make the Kaitzmans seem like associates. I knew all my associates would be in dire danger. If something like White Man even thought there was a possibility I had stored the data from the notebook with them, anything, their lives wouldn't be worth spit. They had a lot of kids and frequent guests from out of town.

"My husband wanted you to know that he had to cancel for Tuesday and reschedule for Thursday. He hopes you can still come?" The Rebbetzin and explained and asked.

I wanted to say, "No blinking way!"

That would have been the smart thing to say. The kind to the Kaitzmans thing to say. However, the Rebbetzin was a formidable woman. I didn't have the courage to say "no," so instead I did the chicken shit thing and said, "Okay."

"Good, we'll see you Thursday then?" She confirmed.

"Yes." I replied with great weakness.

"See you then, have a nice day," and with that she hung up.

Great. At least I'd likely be dead by Thursday.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

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	10. Chapter 10

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 10: Visit From an Old Friend**

With my conversation with the Rebbetzin over, I called Tamar.

A few rings and she picked up. "What do you need? I just put the baby down."

Obviously, she had not needed her phone buzzing, even if the ringer was off, while she was putting our daughter down for a nap. I was just on a total roll for spreading good into the world.

"If you can, I'd like you to come down to the forge. There are some important things we need to talk about?" I requested.

"I'll see if I can find someone to look after the baby. She just went down, I don't want to wake her." She answered.

The easy thing would be to just ask Novi to watch the baby. Tamar didn't trust Novi to watch the baby. Someone else would have to watch the baby.

"Okay," I answered, knowing there would be no way to talk her into letting Novi watch the baby just this one time. "Could you also rustle up some lunch and bring it too."

"Of course, my lord and master." She replied, her sarcastic tone letting me know she didn't like me treating her as a servant. "Anything else?"

"Oh, no. Just come when you can. When it's convenient." I replied, backing up from her annoyance.

"Fine, I'll be down when I can be." She replied and hung up.

It was already an old minor argument between us. I needed to take a more active role raising our daughter. So much shouldn't fall to her. I would point out Novi was available to help, which would make everything so much more convenient. She wouldn't ever trust Novi with the baby, no matter how badly that inconvenienced everyone. There was also some of my favorite, "You're too used to treating women as your slaves. I'm not your slave. Hey, I'm not treating you like a slave!" argument too.

I'd asked her to bring me lunch because between missing sleep last night and that dream I had this morning, I was bone tired from front to back. As I realized this, I turned the flame off in my forge. Another day's work shot.

Having just shut everything down and finally having had a chance to sit and close my eyes, Tamar showed up, just in time to see me apparently having nothing better to do than nap all day. At least she had a tray.

To Tamar's credit, she didn't say anything. She just placed the tray on a table and began to put out a meal while I rustled up chairs.

I looked at Tamar. She was clearly tired. Raising a baby, even with help, is hard work. Still she put the food out and made sure I had to eat and drink before she sat down herself to eat.

"Thank-you for lunch." I said in a calm, I hoped also apologetic and grateful tone.

"You're welcome." She replied in what I hoped was the same tone.

The lunch was fine. Mostly leftovers from the day before. The hamburgers, cole slaw and potato salad were all still good.

When we were done eating, she asked "Was there something else you wanted to tell me about the Warden's visit?"

Oh man. A day ago, the Warden visiting had seemed like a big deal. I had completely forgotten about it considering the much more massive shit storm that had fallen on us this morning. Then, as I thought about the Warden's visit, I realized he was the Warden I had seen in my dream. He had obviously come here sniffing around after the notebook. Of course, I thought I was achieving some diplomatic coup, Levine had just been humoring me.

"Sort of." I replied. Then I told her about finding the White Council's dirty underwear.

"Gutinhimmel!" She snapped as soon as she understood what I was telling her.

"Yeah, that's mostly what I was thinking as well." I replied then continued, "Then this morning, I took a nap. I had a really weird dream which I'm pretty sure wasn't a dream."

"What?" She answered confused, "What sort of dream?"

After all, I had just admitted to doing something which would result in everyone we knew and loved dying screaming, it had better be quite a dream.

"It was like I was living the last several weeks of the young woman's life who had stolen the data." I answered and explained further then concluded, "When I woke up, my head hurt even worse and I was even more tired."

"It sounds like you had some sort of insight into the person who created this lovely situation. Perhaps like what you experienced with the Kappa. Of course, even though you're magic was in close proximity for some time, it seems unlikely." Tamar explained.

"If it's unlikely, what could have caused it?" I asked.

"It's possible you have some special gift for this kind of vision. You do have unusual powers of perception, this could be an extension. The other possibility is that you have some affinity for this young woman?" Tamar theorized.

The way Tamar had said "affinity" implied she strongly suspected I had banged this girl at some point. While I knew Tamar had accepted my wanderings, I also knew she hardly liked them.

"I've never met this girl. I never really saw her face, but I was inside her head. I'm pretty sure she's a teenager. As a rule, I haven't deflowered many teenagers ever and none in some time." I answered.

"Then the gift is most likely. Do you have any idea on how you plan to proceed?" Tamar asked.

"I have to think that our long-term prospects are poor. However, I would like to get to play out the string for as long as possible. We're in a pretty strong defensive position. So, we do have that going for us. Of course, I did see the White Man in my dream. He's out there. He's hunting this data. Which means whatever truce we had is probably kaput." I replied.

"I'll look into options for moving the babies. Perhaps there is some way we can send them far enough away and so erase their identities that they could survive." Tamar pronounced.

"Sounds like a good plan." I replied.

"What of everyone else?" Tamar asked.

"They all know something is up. We gave warnings after the Warden left that something else might be going on. What do we tell them? 'Life as you know it is dead. You'll all be dying screaming soon.' Might as well let them live their last few days or hours with as much dignity as they can. If they know less, they'll likely be tortured less before they're killed. If we need someone for something specific we can bring them in." I announced grimly.

I was also feeling like this was my mess and I wanted to dump on the others as little as possible. We would most likely all be facing a terrible end very soon. If there was any happy ending, it wouldn't make their lives better to spend the next however long terrified and weeping. I'm sure there was also a little craven cowardice about not wanting to admit what I had gotten everyone into mixed in there as well. I know, I was hardly doing well. Next time you sign the death warrant of everyone you know and love, let me know how well you handle it.

Tamar excused herself, collected up all the food items onto the tray and took it back up to the house.

You'd think I wouldn't be able to sleep. You'd be wrong. I fell asleep again in my big office chair there, in the forge, and slept till dinner.

I felt a little better when I woke up the second time. It was dinner time. I was hungry. I checked everyone's status. Yumi and Kaylee were out doing some sort of study things. Brenda was eating in. I could go bother Brenda, but there was a non-zero chance she really hadn't made enough, if anything for dinner. I wouldn't be surprised to walk in there and find her eating tuna from a can. Caleb would breastfeed. I could go to Tamar, but Tamar didn't reply to a ping. I checked the security cams. Tamar was asleep next to Yael's crib. I did NOT want to wake that up.

I could summon Novi, have her make me dinner, keep me company, etc. Except I didn't really want to. I washed up, put on my outside clothes and went and got my truck.

At some point soon, the entire supernatural world was likely to fall on me like an avalanche. My guess was that I still had a day or two before that happened. If I was wrong, I'd die a day early. However, if I was going to die anyway, I thought I'd like my last meal to be at the Lodge.

I got in my truck and drove over to the Lodge. Parked. Walked in. One of the hostesses recognized me immediately and walked me to my table. I didn't come here as much as I had before I was married and had kids, but I'd still drop by 2-3 times a month. Normally, I cleared my table by five. Obviously today I hadn't.

I ordered a glass of The Asters. I normally didn't splurge like that, but hey, I was about to die.

I also ordered a substantial meal starting with those pot stickers I loved running through some buffalo prime rib and sides.

I was sitting at the table, sipping my scotch, in happy anticipation of the pot stickers and thinking about what I might order for dessert or if I'd get a rack of smoked buffalo ribs. Then he came in.

He walked through the crowd like it was perfectly normal. None of the mundane patrons even noticed him passing by, but I saw him.

He was just as all white as I remembered him. Not so much an albino guy wearing a white suit, as someone from whom all color had been drained. I suspected, if one threw a pot of brown paint on him, it would fade out to white. He was like some sort of color singularity.

He was still tall, painfully thin, one wouldn't be surprised to find out he had a heroin addiction or worse. The shape of his face was perfect, but angular and sharp. With his thinness, one could still easily imagine him as a euro trash model. His hair was long and curly. His suit, designer, but slightly rumpled. The same studied disdain for his appearance as if to say, "I'm so beautiful and rich, I don't have to be perfect."

It was the memory of countless nightmares and private moments of dread, perfectly played out. However, that wasn't all. When he moved, he almost seemed like an animated character walking through reality, like the worst nightmare from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. It was like a break in reality wherever he moved, like he hadn't been green screened right and there was bleed over of white background. Like he was more a white two-dimensional animated sketch.

He was moving toward me.

My Glock was in my hand, she was loaded with Stage 6. My axe was also ready. I wasn't wearing arm and leg armor. I didn't have Baby or Big Baby with me. I'd actually prepared a bit for a moment like this. My table was large, made of three-inch-thick steel reinforced oak. It was heavy, but I knew I could lift it onto its side and it would make excellent cover. I could fire from behind.

However, I remained seated. White Man was very clearly carrying a white hanky in one hand, in what I was fairly certain was a sign he wanted to parley, not fight. It's not like I put a lot of value on some abstract system, if I thought I could kill him right now, I would. It wasn't really that I thought he was sincere, if there was any legitimacy to the parley, it was that he was maneuvering his MiBs in the background for ambush. I'd like to say it was because I didn't want to start a gunfight in the Lodge. If I did, under the best of circumstances, I would imagine it would be bad. It would be a lot better if the fight didn't start until I was outside. Even better, till I was home. Mostly, the truth was I was frozen with fear.

It was also true that I took some pride in the Lodge. Yes, the Lodge was mostly Kelly and Miranda's baby. A large staff worked every day to bring her to life. Still the theme was mine. I'd poured a lot into bringing this place to fruition. It was a real and tangible success. It wasn't some job pushing numbers like I had out of University, a scam against casinos that I had used my gifts to purvey or a scam against a bunch of financial companies like I lived on now. The Lodge was tangible evidence that my creativity and ability had built something lasting. I could imagine a bloody shoot out could end that right now.

So, I held the Glock tight, my finger rubbing the trigger in the dangerous sort of way all safety classes said one shouldn't. I could feel the trigger safety drop in and out.

The White Man finished his approach through the bar. On one level, it seemed to take forever. On another, it seemed he moved so fast, I didn't have a chance to react. He sat down at my booth on the left side, scooted in perhaps six inches and looked at me, "You're drinking The Asters. Let me compliment you on your taste."

"What do you want here?" I asked, taking a risk that he wasn't some sort of Fae.

"Just to talk, nothing more. I know we haven't had the best history. The way you stole all my toys and all." He replied.

"You mean the way you tried to murder and enslave my friends and me?" I asked, challenging him.

"You say tomato, I say tahmato. It's not like being my minion is so bad. So many people these days cry about how they want a job. A chance to sell their servitude cheaply. I was offering you a good position. A high-ranking position in my organization. You turned me down ever so brusquely." He replied ever so calmly.

The way he talked was mostly American English, but you could just here the hint of a British Public School education hiding in there in the way he clipped a word here, chose a word there. It made him seem more annoying and entitled. I wanted to punch him in the face so bad! I was even more terrified. I realized he was waiting for a reply and I hadn't said anything for several seconds.

"Get out." I said.

"Don't worry, I'll leave soon enough. I just came to talk tonight. I'm pursuing a young woman. She has something I want. I'd be happy to pay a fair price." He explained.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Get out." I replied.

"Don't be rude. Hospitality is important and you're the nominal host. Also, I have reason to believe you do know something. Even if I'm wrong, you always amaze me how dense you can be, this nowhere is your town. Should something present itself to you. Just make introductions. I promise to behave myself."

That set me back. I had just had a serious lesson in the rules of hospitality. I hardly wanted to lose a case before a Chinese god. Before I could say anything though, he continued.

"I should point something else out as well. You should know that every supernatural power in the world is going to come down on you like a load of bricks, if the load was all the bricks in the world. If you were to accept a position in my organization, you would enjoy a certain measure of security." He offered.

For a split second, that actually sounded good. Crazy, I know, but you try for a bit living with knowing that certain death is coming for you in the next few days. See how you handle it. You start grasping at crazy. Just ask all the people with terminal diseases, why they just spent their life savings on snake oil. But I wasn't that stupid. Being sealed in mud was hardly a life worth living.

"So, you could auction me off to the highest bidder? That's not much of an offer. I will do nothing for you. Get out." I replied.

"So be it. I will leave. Your hospitality leaves much to be desired. However, be aware, I intend to get what I came for. If you help, it will be remembered with gratitude. If you stay out of my way, I have no intention of harming you. If you get in my way, I'm fully capable of going through you to get what I want." With that, White Man got up and left the same way he came in.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 11: Just When You Think It Can't Get Any Worse**

Well, I hadn't fired my gun. I'd love to say that was because I had shown admirable restraint. A gun and magic fight in a place like the Lodge, especially here in the crowded bar, right next to the crowded lobby, with people milling about unpredictably, could have been terrible.

If I was being honest with myself, my restraint was probably more because of the incident with Chebelforth. I had shot Chebelforth right in the chest. The bullet had gone straight through and into the street. That incident had done serious damage to my confidence in my firearms. What if I had shot White Man, who had to have come this evening knowing about what kinds of firearms I was likely to carry, and it had bounced off, or gone straight through or just had no effect? Then even the threat of shooting would have been lost.

I hadn't shot because I was scared it would do nothing.

Still, even though I hadn't fired, my pistol was gripped in my hand under the table. I had been ready to Han Solo White Man's ass and shoot first. Now though, this position presented certain challenges.

Having fired my Glock nearly every day, hundreds of times, I was intimately familiar with where, exactly, the trigger would break and fire the gun. Every trigger on every gun is different, pull back a certain distance, no fire. Pull back just past that certain point, the break, and the weapon fires. I was holding the pistol in a death grip. I knew I was right at the very edge of the break.

This was bad, even the slightest tremor and the gun would go off. Even under the best of circumstances, backing off the break after I'd pulled it this far would be a tricky bit of self-control. These were not the best of circumstances. I was badly shaken by White Man's visit. White Man was the stuff of my personal nightmares, the personification of everything I feared.

To make matters worse, inside, my personal wolf, or fox or whatever sort of spirit it was supposed to be, the spirit I depended on to draw strength, single mindedness and focus from, was jumping around inside of me like a Great Dane/Pitbull mix hopped up on cocaine and PCP. My will was holding a very tenuous leash on it. The wolf spirit had very much decided it was time for fight or flight, mostly flight, and was deeply unhappy I wasn't taking action, preferably through a window near the ceiling. Fighting an internal battle of self-control was NOT making the external battle any easier.

Rather than trying to back off the break directly, I imagined the movements that Tamar had been showing me. Slowly, they brought my internal spirit back into a calm balance. That gave me back my focus and determination.

Then I started to remember the simplest lessons Mr. Guna had taught me. I started to breath. The control of breathing gave me more control of myself. Eventually I was ready.

Slowly, with every muscle in my right hand cramping and trembling, I backed my finger off the trigger. I could feel the spring moving the trigger back from the break, and after what seemed like an eternity, the trigger safety backing off the trigger. Finally, with the trigger fully unengaged, I pulled my trigger finger out of the guard which engaged a whole different set of abused muscles.

With my finger fully disengaged from the trigger I replaced the pistol to her holster. My hand was locked in a death grip on the pistol. It took three tries to let the pistol go, each time with shooting pains up my arm.

With the pistol finally safely holstered, I took the rest of my The Asters and drank it. That helped.

Then I put my axe away, normally a smooth operation done as quick as thought. With my shaking hands it took another three tries.

Then I wanted to either throw up, crawl under the table and start crying or both.

Eventually, I mastered myself enough to get up and go to my truck. After getting in, I took a few moments to rest my forehead against the steering wheel.

I would need to call everyone and let them know White Man was in town. With that bit of responsibility motivating me, I was able to pull out my cell phone, which miraculously wasn't bricked.

I was just about to start dialing when my phone started ringing in my hand. I had gotten a call from Detective Bishop, which was a surprise.

"Hello." I answered.

"Hi Dr. Fox, based on your conversation last night, it seemed like you and Rabbi Kaitzman know each other?" He asked.

Seeing no reason to deny it, I replied, "Yes, we're friendly acquaintances."

"Then maybe you could help. Could you meet me someplace?" Detective Bishop replied.

"I suppose, back down at Police Headquarters?" I answered.

"No, I need you to come to UNMC." He answered, surprising me.

"UNMC," I answered completely confused.

UNMC, or University of Nebraska Medical Center is one of the major hospitals in town. It's also one of the best hospitals in the world. One may remember that not so long ago, some ebola victims needed to be transferred back here to the States. They came to UNMC as UNMC is one of the few hospitals in the world with a Stage Four isolation ward.

Then I continued, "I hope you're all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But I need you to come down here. Can you come?" Detective Bishop asked.

"Certainly." I answered on autopilot, not thinking about the other obligations I had this evening and the danger I was putting people in.

"Great, it can be hard to find your way in this place. Come to the main entrance, I'll have a uniformed officer waiting for you. How long do you think it will take?" Detective Bishop continued.

"Give or take traffic, twenty minutes. I'm in my truck. I was just leaving the Lodge." I answered.

"Good. I've always wanted to eat there, but I could never get a reservation." Detective Bishop answered strangely.

"Oh, I have an in with the owner. Just let me know and I'll get you in." I replied again on autopilot as I pulled out of the lot.

"Great. I'll see you in twenty."

I pulled out of the lot and drove downtown on Dodge. What could they need me for at UNMC and what could Rabbi Kaitzman have to do with it?

I pulled out on to Dodge and eighteen minutes later found me, having parked, walking up to UNMC's main entrance. A uniform waived me down and asked, "Dr. Fox?"

"Yes, that's me." I replied, still bewildered.

"Please come with me." The officer requested, and I followed him into the hospital.

Unlike most major metropolitan hospitals in the US, one can find parking on a Monday night pretty easy. Just like most major hospitals in the US, the interior is a crazy maze that doesn't seem to respond to any logical rules. Particularly, if one is going as we apparently were, to a high-security interior location.

After a walk that took almost as long as the drive, we came to a high-security ICU corridor. There were three other officers posted and an armed hospital security guard was lingering about. My guide handed me off to Detective Bishop, who was sitting at an unused desk working on a notebook computer that looked very old. When he saw me, the Detective rose and with a grim smile shook my hand.

"How can I help you this evening Detective?" I asked, getting to a point where I was a bit annoyed.

"Please," he said, gesturing to a chair next to his desk, "you'll want to sit for this."

More bewildered, I sat down with the detective and he spun his notebook around, so we could both see the screen.

"This happened earlier this evening." The detective explained as he started a video on the notebook.

Detective Bishop and Rabbi Kaitzman were walking down a corridor toward the camera in police headquarters. Then, you could only see his tall frame, covered in its cowboy hat and long grey cloak from the rear. Clearly, the Detective and Rabbi had startled the Warden. The Warden drew a large caliber revolver, clearly intending to shoot the Detective. Instead, Rabbi Kaitzman pushed the Detective out of the way at the last second, saving his life. Unfortunately, Rabbi Kaitzman was hit in the gut.

Then the Warden used magic to push back the Detective and kill all the electronics in the station. Everything went black.

"It's a whole long list of the damndest things." The Detective began. "First, how in the hell could a full-grown man, dressed like that, have gotten into that high-security area? Then, after he shoots the Rabbi, what picked me up and threw me into the wall? Then the second major systems failure in two days at Police Headquarters. Those aren't cheap, flimsy systems. I designed those systems to be redundant and fault-tolerant. After yesterday's security camera system failures, I took measures to save security footage offsite or we wouldn't have this. This system's failure is going to seriously impact criminal investigation throughout the region."

Then, turning to look at the wall he added, mostly I think for his own benefit, "It's also the damndest thing that I can feel angry that I didn't protect Rabbi Kaitzman, which is the point of my existence as police officer, but can be so grateful right now my kids still have parents."

After a few moments of reverie, in which I could see the good Detective was going through a crisis every bit as challenging as mine, he continued.

"Do you, by any chance know anything about the shooter?" He asked.

"As a matter of fact, I think I do." I replied.

"You do?" The Detective replied, clearly surprised.

"Yes, I can't say for certain, we only see him from behind in the video, but his dress and stance are fairly distinctive." I replied.

Yes, the simplest thing would be for me to keep my mouth shut. Say nothing. I'm sure the White Council wouldn't be happy about me ratting out one of their Wardens. On the other hand, the Laws of Magic were quite clearly silent about protecting White Council officials from the consequences of their crazy actions. I was incredibly angry that Sam had shot anybody! That he had tried to shoot Detective Bishop and had, instead shot a man as saintly as Rabbi Kaitzman was, well, we'll just say it was bad. Also knowing that all his friendly talk the other night was nothing but a pile of garbage as he felt me out trying to see if I knew anything about the missing data files didn't leave me with a whole lot of sympathy.

"How do you know him?" Detective Bishop asked stunned.

"He came by the house yesterday. He said he was an admirer of my academic work. Wanted to discuss some of my published papers in person. That happens with me from time to time. I am well regarded in certain academic circles. Also, it's not uncommon for a grad student to wander by, fluff me up and see if there are any internships available or places in our doctoral programs. He said his name was Stanley Levi and that he was from Houston. He was driving a '66 Mustang, green I think. Not in good shape. Had a lot of rust. I had to help him get it started." I answered.

Yes, I gave the wrong name, place of origin and color for his car. Both plausibly deniable later if, somehow, they ever caught Sam. The name and location were close, the color was only a bit off from the blue. I hadn't completely lied, and I hadn't completely told the truth. I had started to think that I didn't necessarily need to go to war with the White Council any more than I already had. I had also begun to think about just how many officers a fully trained White Council Warden might be able to kill, if he was sufficiently provoked and thought he was saving every living thing on the planet.

Of course, after that Detective Bishop had excitedly called in Detective Collins who was investigating. Everyone was now excited they had a lead of some sort. It would not do unless I gave the whole story again and signed an official report. A process that took several hours and it was already late. Finally, it was done.

"I'm sorry we were distracted, but I can think you can imagine why. Would you like to see the Rabbi?" Detective Bishop finally asked.

"Yes, I would." I replied.

Detective Bishop led me over to a large window that observed a hospital room. Inside the room was Rabbi Kaitzman, lying on a hospital bed. They had him strung up with many tubes and wires. I immediately noticed that the Rabbi, always a man full of life, was somehow hollow. His face seemed almost skeletal. It didn't look good.

"Is he going to live?" I asked.

"They don't know." Detective Bishop answered.

Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out my smart phone which had a full set of the Bible, Prophets and Writings. I picked a Psalm at random to say and, lo and behold, it was 23. I hoped that was some sort of sign from above. When he saw me praying, Detective Bishop respectfully bowed his head.

When I was done I asked, "Shouldn't Mrs. Kaitzman be here?"

"Yes. That was why I had originally asked you to come. Normally, if an Officer needed to make such a visit, he would bring the Chaplain. Obviously, the Chaplain is not available, so I was going to do it. Then I remembered that you both seemed to know each other last night. I was thinking this sort of news might be easier to hear with someone you know." Detective Bishop explained, clearly pained that we had already been delayed so long.

"So, you want me to come to Mrs. Kaitzman's home with you to help explain what's happened?" I asked a little bewildered.

"Yes, I know it's not what you signed on for, but if it could help at moment like this…" Detective Bishop left the rest hanging.

How could I say "no?" Little did Detective Bishop realize I was in this up to my nose and I felt like I did have some responsibility. The sewage that was my world had sloshed over into their clean, bright shiny world and gotten on Rabbi Kaitzman. Now it would get on his family.

"Okay, how are we going to do this? Should I ride with you? Will you ride with me?" I replied.

"Probably best if you follow me over. That way I can give her a ride back and you can go home." Detective Bishop replied.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 12: Not So Glad Tidings**

So, the Detective and I left UNMC. We both went to our vehicles and we rallied up at the main gate. We drove back down Dodge making the turn onto 120th down toward Pacific to go to the Kaitzman's home.

I knew Rebbetzin Kaitzman a bit. "Rebbetzin" is the title used in the traditional Jewish world for the wife of the Rabbi. Frequently, the Rebbetzin would act as a community leader as well. It was not uncommon for the Rebbetzin to be the de facto leader of the female side of the community, though that was not a rule set in stone. Female members of the community often feel more comfortable going to the Rebbetzin than the Rabbi with their questions and problems. It was an old, only partially a joke, saying that when a community hired a Rabbi they got a bargain because they got the Rebbetzin for free.

Rebbetzin Kaitzman was a formidable woman of middle-years. She was definitely a leader of the community. She and the Rabbi had been blessed with quite a few children, I was ashamed to admit I didn't know how many, but the oldest, a daughter, was now married and had a child of her own. Generally, when the Rebbetzin cooked, it was with simple ingredients. Still, the food would have a richness of flavor that I couldn't seem to duplicate anywhere else, which was why I was always eager for an invite. I had been particularly grateful for the invitation to the daughter's wedding, wow that had been a good meal.

Now I was going to dump this on her. And her children. And the whole community. "Wooo, it's magic," I thought in the snakiest tone I could manage. Whatever this magic side of the world was, it wasn't all unicorns and rainbows.

I thought through what was to come. We would go. Detective Bishop would probably do most of the talking. Then he would take the Rebbetzin back to UNMC. Then I'd be cut loose and get to go home. On one level I was eager to go home. It was way past my bedtime and I was exhausted. On another level, I dreaded going home because that would mean I would have to try to explain to everyone I cared about that White Man and most of the major predators in the magical world were in town and would be gunning for us because I couldn't seem to keep my nose out of trouble.

We pulled up in front of the Kaitzman's private home. There was a black and white already parked there. More closed gates after the horses had fled, but a nice gesture all the same. The Detective and I got out of our vehicles, and despite the painfully late, or perhaps more accurately early hour, we walked up to the door and the Detective knocked.

It didn't take long for the door to be answered by the Rebbetzin. She was dressed in the typical modest clothes of her denomination. Despite the late hour, she was dressed and coifed like she expected the doorbell to ring at any moment. Her clothes were proper, and her hair was done, like she was on the way to a school board meeting.

"Would you like to come in?" She asked in a proper tone.

"Yes, if you don't mind." The Detective replied.

She gave way and I followed the Detective in. I noticed the threshold as I walked in. There is a particular flavor and intensity to the threshold of a Jewish home. I suspect this Jewish threshold is more powerful than most. Certainly, the home, and the people inside, are just as vulnerable to a bullet or a knife, but the ability of the home to reject a supernatural incursion would be formidable. Particularly, I suspected, this home that had been so much the family dwelling of such pious people. I suspected I wouldn't have been able to enter at all without the invitation.

"Can I get either of you something to drink, perhaps some coffee, or something to eat?" The Rebbetzin asked.

I stood still with what I'm sure was a grim look on my face.

"Dr. Fox, I'm surprised to see you with the Detective, though my husband did say something about you helping the police." The Rebbetzin pointed out.

"I'm glad to see you too Rebbetzin, though I wish it was under other circumstances." I said and immediately realized I'd put my foot in it.

"The Rebbetzin looked sharply back and forth between us and said, "What? Has something happened to the Rabbi?"

"Perhaps you should sit down?" The Detective tried to begin awkwardly while rubbing the back of his head with his right hand.

"No. Explain to me right now." She didn't raise her voice, but her words were filled with the emphatic, motherly tone that had ridden heard on a large band of active, precocious kids and an entire community. I suspect that tone could convince a tree to uproot itself and move to the next yard.

"Okay," The Detective replied, "There was a shooting at Headquarters this evening. Your husband was shot. He's still alive, but unconscious at UNMC."

"Is he expected to live?" The Rebbetzin asked.

"To be perfectly frank, I don't know." The Detective replied.

"I wish to be taken to my husband." The Rebbetzin replied.

"Of course, I'll be happy to take you." The Detective answered.

"No, I'd prefer Dr. Fox takes me. I expect he knows where my husband is and can take me there?" She chose then asked.

Okay, to be honest, I didn't want the chore of being the taxi driver. But how can one say "no" in a situation like this? So I said, "Of course, we can leave as soon as you're ready."

"Oh, that's good." The Detective said. "I'll make some calls to make sure everything runs smooth. I've been neglecting my extremely urgent duties back at headquarters. If you need anything or I can be of further assistance in any way Mrs. Kaitzman, please let me know. For now though, if you'll excuse me?"

With that, the Rebbetzin waved him off and the Detective was away in seconds. It made sense. The Omaha Police Department was facing a massive crisis with their data systems down. Detective Bishop was, essentially, their CIO. The OPD needed him in triage hours ago. Systems down like that meant cases might be lost, and killers would go free or others might not be caught. It was life and death. However, it meant this chore was dumped on me. I was intensely aware that I had a target on my back. Sitting next to me in my truck wasn't exactly the safest place to be right now. Still, there was no getting out of it.

"One moment please." The Rebbetzin said and I nodded.

She went to the rear part of the house and called, "Mushkele," which I knew was one of her daughter's nicknames.

The daughter came forward and they spoke in hushed tones I wasn't supposed to hear. Of course, I heard them. For better or worse, they were also talking in Yiddish and I had no idea what they meant.

Then the Rebbetzin got her coat, came back to me and said, "I'm ready."

I gestured to the door and she led us outside. I walked ahead quickly and opened the passenger door on the truck, holding it while she climbed herself into the seat. I was more grateful at that moment than I had been in some time that I had no fast food wrappers on the floor of my truck.

I jogged around, got in the driver's seat and we were off again back to UNMC.

I was silent for a few moments. The Rebbetzin sat in dignified silence for a bit as well and then began, "So you ran into my husband yesterday at Police Headquarters?"

"Yes Ma'am." I replied.

"What sort of things were you helping the police with?" She continued to probe.

The questions made me nervous. What could I reveal and what could I not reveal? On the one hand, I was bound by various sorts of confidentiality to the Police. On the other, her husband had just been shot. I respected them both greatly. There was also the issue that it didn't exactly make them safer the more I told them.

I suspect she noticed it took me a moment to reply, when she added a, "Hmm?"

"I was just helping the Police with some technical computer issues. Very boring." I lied lamely in way that was sort of true.

"Do you know something about this incident? How my husband was shot?" She continued to interrogate.

At this point the Rebbetzin's strategy was clear. She probably knew she wouldn't get much from Detective Bishop. Me, on the other hand, I was quite the soft target.

I swallowed.

"Well?" She continued as I once again stalled.

"I'm sorry. Not really. I only knew your husband was shot because Detective Bishop thought it would be comforting to have me around when he broke the news. I would guess I'm the only one he knows that also knows the Rabbi." I lied badly.

A clearly unhappy and skeptical "I see," was all she said the rest of the way to the hospital. It was painfully obvious that my dishonesty was only adding to the pain and suffering she must be feeling at this moment. Considering she had walked my wife down the aisle, I felt even worse because I felt I owed her more.

We arrived again quickly at the hospital and, it being Omaha and the wee hours of the morning, there was a spot pretty close to the door. I backed into my spot, jumped out and ran around to help the Rebbetzin out. She had managed to get herself out and was standing on the ground when I got there.

For religious reasons, it wouldn't be polite to offer her my arm, so I just made to walk her to the door when I felt something cold, in a sick awful way, against my back.

I turned around slowly and there it was.

I didn't have a lot of experience with vampires, as evidenced by the fact that I was still here, alive and breathing, but this was definitely a denizen of the Black Court. Reports had been coming up from the Red Lands that with the Red Court vanquished, the Black Court was starting to skeeve out of whatever holes they had been hiding in.

It didn't help that most of the countries south of the border were well provided with ideal Black Court hunting grounds. Huge cities with vast populations of the poor, with practically no protection from any sort of limited law and order. Any who would have the courage and strength to stand up to the vampires would have been long ground under by the Red Court. A vampire could feed every night in a city like San Paolo and no one would ever notice. On top of that, governments had been falling and narco wars had been exploding with far greater intensity than normal. There had been a brief period of peace after the Red Court had been destroyed by the White Council, I suspect because representatives of the Red Court had held so many of the levers of power in so many places. But as soon as anyone who still held a shred of power realized there was a huge vacuum, it had been a bum's rush to try and seize it. Both in the mundane and magical world. Also, certainly, in that wonderfully creepy boundary between the two.

Into this already burning circle jerk of violence had now fallen the key that could destroy the White Council. Omaha is in the middle of the United States, a bit to the north really. I'd been enjoying that and the perch it gave to view the terrible events south of the border with complete safety, comfortably "tsking" at various reports in the mundane news and my various sources in the supernatural at the various unfortunate goings on to the south.

Now the price of my comfortable view had come due. Really, Omaha is only about a thousand miles from the Mexican border and a straight shot up a very fast Interstate Highway. Very popular route for the drugs and illegal immigrants that come to the upper Midwest to pick the crops, work construction jobs and anything else their industrious hearts could find. Now this abomination had followed.

I knew a Black Court vampire, even a comparative young and weak one, is a dangerous match for a White Council Warden. I was probably completely overmatched. Still, I couldn't just abandon the Rebbetzin, and, even if I did, this thing could probably just run me down.

"How convenient. Just the person I was looking for and apparently you brought me dinner." It said. It's voice a raspy gargle from a throat long too decayed to speak pleasantly. Wonderful, it was probably an older and more powerful creature.

I had my axe and pistol in my hands and moved to put myself between the creature and Rebbetzin.

I took the extraordinary step of pushing the Rebbetzin behind me and between me and the truck, as I assumed a fighting stance while I ordered, "Get behind me. I'll try and protect you."

The Rebbetzin was none too happy to be shoved as she said, "What are you talking about? There is no one there."

The vampire was stalking toward us. I wanted to hold my fire until it was point blank. Unfortunately, the hospital was behind the vampire. A stray round could go straight through a wall or window and destroy all sorts of things inside, not to mention detonate the oxygen. I would wait until it was point blank range and it's superspeed wouldn't let it dodge my shot. At least that was my plan.

I knew I was way in over my head. This thing was going to kill me. I could feel it putting pressure on my mind. It was probably doing something to the Rebbetzin's mind which was why she wasn't seeing it and was continuing to complain. It was getting closer and suddenly, as it crossed about two meters, maybe five feet away, it just caught fire.

The thing went up like a roman candle.

Well, it went up like a roman candle for about five seconds and then it just burned like a five-foot eight human effigy. A human effigy filled with rancid meat and human shit. Of course, it perfectly blocked in my truck which was nose out, but had cars parked behind it and on each side. I suppose I could have run it over.

The Rebbetzin stepped forward and looked at the burning thing. The she turned and surveyed me with my pistol and axe out. "I see you are part of this Marchenvelt. I'm sure that has something to do with my husband's condition. I expect you to explain yourself at some point. However, for now, I expect it would be better if you put your toys away now."

I realized several things at once with the Rebbetzin's words. First, she and the Rabbi were probably aware of what I thought of as the magical world. Secondly, I realized what had destroyed the vampire.

The Rebbetzin carried the threshold of her home with her wherever she went. When the vampire had stepped across it, well good-bye vampire.

The Rebbetzin was also right about putting away my things. A police officer would be present shortly. It wouldn't do to be holding a gun and axe. For the second time that day I was faced with the challenge of unclenching and putting away my pistol. It was easier as, while the vampire was incredibly scary, it was not the stuff of my personal nightmares the way White Man was. Also, my internal wolf was calm, and I could draw strength and focus from it. However, it was also harder as this was the second crises I had faced in a now approaching twenty-four long day. I was depleted in ways I had never been before. Further, I didn't have forever to get it done. A patrolman would be here any second.

With an act of will, I stopped the shaking in my hand and put the pistol away. As I began to put my axe away, I turned and said to the Rebbetzin, "The one who shot your husband was part of what you would call the 'Marchenvelt.' He was not mine and I did not order what he did. I have already told the police what I know of him."

The Rebbetzin nodded.

I was just finishing stowing my axe when the young patrolman ran up and breathlessly asked, "Are you two all right? What happened?"

Once again, it took some time to get everything sorted out. I was grateful they got the Rebbetzin bundled off quickly to see her husband. I, on the other hand, got to wait for some time until the Fire Department arrived. They quickly put out the remains of the effigy and collected up what remained for evidence.

I had to give various reports. I kept asserting that it had seemed like a scarecrow had caught fire just after we had gotten out of the truck. From what I gathered, the investigators decided it must have been some sort of prank. I was happy to leave it there.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 13: Rocky Road Home**

Finally, the vampires remains had been removed and I was allowed to leave. I was in a hurry. My alarm would go off soon and I didn't want it to wake Tamar and the baby.

Luckily, I lived much closer to UNMC than the Kaitzman's did, so it would be a quick drive home.

My home sits on a hill in the center of it's own slightly isolated neighborhood. The hill is comprised of several very large home lots that I had purchased and combined to make my home. I have no neighbors left that join me lot to lot, I bought them all out. My home lot is completely surrounded by the cobbled street of the neighborhood. To the south west, across the cobbled street, were the two homes I had built for Jake, Travis and their families. They were large homes and built on what had been three large lots as well, meaning those two lots together were surrounded by street. I tended to drive up a street that went straight west from my home and just north of their houses, Travis' home specifically. I probably should have varied my route, but it was convenient and we all fall into habits. It was convenient because the main entrance to my home is across from the street, meaning I can trigger the fence on the way down, a quick look both ways for traffic that is almost never there and across and into my home.

As I drove down the street, I noticed just as I pulled alongside Travis' home, there was a roadblock. It looked like an official police roadblock that one sees from time to time. There were flares tossed about, a wooden gate like the kind put across railroad trestles and I could see boards full of nails drilled into the cobblestone street.

The nail boards were what first triggered me that something wasn't right.

I was thinking, "Those holes they drilled to hold down the nail boards, they'll ruin the cobbles. Then I'll probably have to pay to have the cobbles repaired or the city will put down the asphalt they're always threatening to. Even when I have the cobbles repaired, it won't look right. No matter how much you try and color match, the replacement cobbles will still be obvious. Okay, most people won't notice as they drive down the street, but I will.

"Wait a minute they have nail boards on both sides of the street. That doesn't make any sense. How am I supposed to proceed?"

Okay, I was slow, but I had already been up almost twenty-four hours. When I was younger, I did better with less sleep. Now I was older, doing without sleep was harder and had higher costs. Also, the Wolf in me was helpful in a lot of ways, but just as it demanded I eat more, it also demanded I sleep more.

It was just at that moment I came to a stop. I'm a very law-abiding Omaha person and Omaha people stop for police stops and present their license, registration and insurance which we always have up to date.

I had just put down my driver's window when I finally noticed the obvious. What was manning the roadblock weren't men.

Standing where you would expect the police officer taking documents by my window to be was a creature, to be specific, an ant. This ant, however, was standing on it's hind legs in an upright position. That left it with four legs or arms depending on your point of view and two antennae to wave about in a manner I found very unpleasant. The thing probably stood six feet tall and was much further around than a human would be. In the upper right pincer, I noticed it held a Mac 10 machine pistol.

It's mandibles started clicking making a sound that evinced the same feelings in me as finding a bunch of ants crawling all over a bagged sandwich I might have brought for lunch, after I had already taken a bite. Still, it somehow resolved into English so I understood what he said to be, "Get out of the car. You are captured. If you try to resist, you will be injured and then killed."

Charming.

I noticed that they were drilling more boards in behind me. Great, more cobbles to repair.

Unfortunately for South Africa, since the repeal of apartheid, they have a much worse crime problem then we have here in the States. Car-jacking, in particular, is a major problem. The South Africans have come up with a variety of responses that one wouldn't find here in the States, probably because their responses would seem so savage. One must understand the savagery of their responses in terms of the savagery of their problem. One, particularly one who must reside in what the Rebbetzin called the "Marchenvelt," might have imported a South African anti-carjacking solution to the United States. Probably illegally.

While my mouth said, "Don't do anything hasty. You got me." My left foot flipped a switch, and when a small light on my dash went green a second later, my left foot pressed a button. Then a jet of napalm shot out and covered the ant-man.

The ant-thing went up very convincingly. His pincer sprayed bullets, but not very accurately. My window was already going up. My right foot slammed down on the accelerator and the more than one thousand horses I kept under the hood sprang to my call.

I flew across the nail boards. Since my tires were armored run flat models they kept me going. I flew threw their reinforced wooden gate which was no match for my steel bumper and bull-guards. I heard the "clacks" of bullets from the various firearms of various ant creatures hitting the truck. I noticed as the rear right window turned into a spider web. I know I caught one more ant creature under my truck and ran it over with my right front tire.

Then I was across the street and through the gate which started to close after me.

I pulled up the driveway, imagining I might open up some space and then use my pistol and magic to fight the ones that were left.

That line of thought continued until I jumped out of my car.

As I looked back I saw ant-things chasing up the driveway. Some had made it through the gate and some had assayed the wall. I noticed that as they crossed the plane of the wall, they didn't do well. They seemed to start sweating a lot of yellow jelly. Still, they had dropped down to four legs to pursue and were quite quick. They were also excellent climbers. I noticed the sharp bits on my walls were giving them trouble, but they were still moving over the wall quite quickly.

I suppose I could have drawn and started firing, but it seemed unnecessary. It was unnecessary because ribbons of saffron colored energy came down from the house. The ribbons didn't seem to be moving fast, they were so elegant as they danced their elegant curving and re-curving dance through the air, but when I checked the video later I realized they moved about as fast as a .44 mag bullet.

Eventually, each ribbon's edge would touch an ant-thing and it would be like the ant-thing had been hit by a telephone pole moving at high speed. Then the ribbon would wrap around the ant-thing, which, if they were still functional, they seemed to welcome, only to then crush the ant-thing within. Once the ant-thing was crushed, the ribbon would fade slowly, as if regretting it had to leave so soon. The crushed remains of the ant things would flop on the ground. They were all gone in seconds. None of them got off another shot.

I realized the time and ran into the house. I got to the Master bedroom just in time to see my alarm go off. Great. Yael started crying and I'm sure Tamar woke up as well.

I turned off the alarm and then went to Yael's crib where I picked her up and comforted her. She calmed down enough to let me take her to the bathroom, where, only by nightlight, I gave her a quick change of diapers and a fresh onesie.

I brought Yael back to her Mother just as she was starting to realize I wasn't the Mama and she wasn't getting fed.

Without opening her eyes, Tamar lifted the blanket and her nighty as I put our daughter down. Quickly the nighty went back down over Yael who had already glommed onto Tamar's natural ability to feed. I'm sure Yael enjoyed being cocooned under nighty and blanket getting fed. I knew I wanted to crawl in after her.

I looked on the scene of domestic bliss and decided it would be pointless to interrupt it at the moment. I went to the bathroom stripped out of my gear, used the commode and took a shower.

Feeling a little better, at least clean, I put on a fresh shirt and underpants. Then I gathered my gear up and went to a separate dressing room I keep. I haven't been in a thousand battles with a million men, but I knew one thing. Everyone I ever smelled after a fight had one thing in common, they stunk. I'd been up for over 24 hours and managed to be in three tight spots. My gear needed some maintenance. I hung my coat, pressed a spot on the inside of the lapel and let it clean itself. I stripped my armor pieces out of my cup and breastplate and put them in an auto-power washer I kept for them. I dumped all the dirty cloth bits into various laundry bags. When my breastplate was clean, I dressed it in a new vest and put it on. I also placed my cup in the specially prepared underwear I had for it which I was already wearing. I put on fresh pants and strapped on the breastplate. I slipped my feet into boots and pulled my coat back on just as it finished it's cleaning cycle.

I went down, let Yumi know to bring my breakfast, extra-large, to the Forge office and headed there.

As I sat at my desk, I watched the footage from my front door. The ant-things, once dead, melted down into an ugly pee colored jelly which then evaporated quickly. All their props remained. I noticed all the ant-thing firearms that had made it onto the grounds had been moved back outside.

The police showed up about twenty minutes after the last bit of jelly had evaporated. They were still outside. They didn't know who would have set up a road block. They might have let it go, except for the number of firearms littering the street, many of them illegal, some clearly having been fired.

I felt for them. I couldn't imagine any logical explanation from the real world for such a disaster. I suppose I could have moseyed on down and explained things. I even had some great footage, from several angles. Seeing that first one go up in flames was like watching something from Hollywood. However, the last thing I needed to do was spend several more hours chatting with policemen about why ant-creatures wanted to stop my truck.

Eventually, they did ring my doorbell.

"No, I'm sorry officer. Nobody heard or saw anything. Video footage? Yeah that clears and resets every 20 minutes, so I don't have anything from earlier. You need the last 20 minutes? No, all right. Yeah, just leave your card there, I'll pick it up later. If anyone heard or saw anything, we'll call. Thanks."

That was that and they went away.

I'd already called Jed and told him I needed four new tires and right rear window.

"Those are going to take some time, they're pretty exotic parts." Jed explained.

"Just get the order in and I'll pay for overnight." I replied.

"Will do." He replied.

After that conversation, I was exhausted, so I went to sleep.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 14: More Bad Dreams**

Yumi had brought me a substantial breakfast. I might have not eaten, I was pretty tired and stressed out. I don't like to be in fights and physical confrontations. Any of the confrontations I'd had in the last twelve or so hours would have qualified as a bad year. That included Rabbi Kaitzman being shot and having to resist the Rebbetzin's questioning. They had also mostly happened after bed time, which made them worse.

On top of those moments, I still had the stress of not knowing what to do about what was on that chip in my deep safe. How many more contenders would arrive? Since I was still alive, how many would take another shot? Probably all of them. Yes, I could give the chip back to the White Council, but who would believe I hadn't made a copy? Opened it at least once and looked a little bit? Pretty much every major magical power on the planet wouldn't be satisfied until they had tortured everyone to whom I had ever even shown a glimmer of affection, along with me, to death to find out. Maybe worse.

This was exactly the sort of situation I had always wanted to avoid and now I was in it. The water was above my head and it was hot. Worse, I had no idea of a way to get out from under.

So, I didn't really feel like eating. However, it had been over twelve hours of stressful action with nothing to eat. My body didn't handle fasts that long very well anymore. More importantly, the Wolf inside needed to eat.

So mechanically I put away the breakfast that included a 22 oz rib steak, a big pile of pancakes and a heaping bowl of apples and raisin oatmeal. I washed it all down with a whole pitcher of my was oranges in the last 20 minutes orange juice.

When I was done eating, I repaired to my shop office. I found myself getting sleepy. I checked my bedroom by security camera, Tamar was still asleep.

I spoke, "Novi, please come here."

I could say that anyplace in the house and Novi would just show up.

A few seconds later, a perfectly fresh Stephanie from that calendar more than twenty years gone by walked through my forge office door. Novi/Stephanie was wearing that fishnet thing that she knew was my favorite.

"Yes Master? What can I do for you?" She asked ever so politely in a way that, despite my stress and fatigue, was like a chord being played on my libido.

"First of all, thank-you very much for saving the home and myself from the ant things this morning." I began.

"Of course." She replied.

"Secondly, please let me know when Tamar awakes. I need to talk to you both together. Some things have come up."

"Of course. Will there be anything else?" She continued.

"No nothing for now." I replied.

"Then I'll be about my duties." Novi said as she backed out and closed the doors.

I was thinking of doing something on the forge. Instead, I fell asleep in my forge office chair.

I was in the land of Israel, some two thousand years prior. "How pleasant," I thought to myself, "I so enjoyed my trip to Israel."

As I sunk deeper into the dream, I realized I was a Speculatore in the service of Rome. My job was to seek out resistance to the rule of Rome and crush it. I had been born to a family of minor nobility whose fortunes had diminished in the last few generations. My grandfather, in particular, had squandered the family wealth on whores, collecting pretty slave girls and gambling.

As the child of minor gentry, it was fairly typical that I would serve some time in the Legions.

"Let them make a man of you. Teach you how to handle yourself in a fight. Command men in action. Carry yourself in a way that commands respect." Was advice I had heard as a boy from my Uncle Flavius given to my cousin Tertian as he reached his sixteenth birthday. It was advice one might have heard anywhere in the Empire and more believed because it was such common wisdom.

The Empire always needed the officers it drew from families like my own, the seed corn of the Empire, to ride herd on the plebeians, rabble and barbarians that were used to fill out the enlisted ranks.

Left unsaid by my Uncle Flavius, but perhaps whispered later, was the corollary, a good military career, a few victories in the service of the Empire and one could expect shares in the plunder. Maybe find a few pretty bits oneself and forget to throw them in the common plunder. Such wealth could be used to buy lands, income and property back home, restore the family fortune. With fortunes restored, one might be able to attract the hand of a young lady of good family who would come with a considerable dowry and, perhaps, even an inheritance.

I tried to be a good lad. I studied my classics, martial arts and, when I became a teenager, I only lay with the family cook slave. Yes, she was old and ugly, but it was very thrifty. I saved my drachmas rather than wasting them on whores. My father thought me very virtuous.

As I turned fifteen, my talent manifested.

A healthy, patriotic lad like myself could look forward to a career in the Legions. A lad like me with talent, I was recruited into the Speculatores. I know my Pater Familias was paid a substantial finding fee for me. I could have resented it, but I knew my father would invest the funds in income and, as his only son, I would eventually inherit. So, what was the harm?

In war, the enemies of the Empire had endless shamans, hedge witches, sorcerers and necromancers. Speculatores were the counter force. As Rome gained advantage on the battlefield by equipping and training her men, so did Rome gain advantage in magical conflict, by recruiting and training those with talent.

In peace, the Speculatores were also the secret police of the Empire. We rooted out treason, disloyalty and rebellion. All the more feared for our magical prowess.

The Speculatores trained me in all the skills I would have learned in the Legions. I could handle a sword and myself in a fight. I could take command of a century of legionnaires at a moment's notice and lead them through fire. They also trained me to hunt the Empire's enemies and use my talents.

Of course, the Empire always had many trouble spots, but if you asked where there was the most rebellion, one answer would always come back, Palestine.

Palestine, the recently renamed province that had been Zion but a short time before. Their recent revolt, led by the "Son of the Star" had been crushed and their oh, so holy Temple had been burned. So many Judeans had been slaughtered, it was said it would be enough to paint the entire land red. Only one Judean had been captured and enslaved for perhaps every ten murdered, but it was still enough to collapse the Imperial slave markets with vast oversupply.

One would think the Judeans had learned their lesson. One would be wrong. They clung to their faith fiercely. It should have been obvious that their God had either forsaken them or was weak! Yet they clung to him. As they clung to the faith that Rome had wisely banned, it was, after all, their faith that had driven them into the Son of the Star revolt, they became traitors and rebels. Traitors and rebels had to be rooted out, lest another such rebellion ever emerge. The Son of the Star revolt had been a disaster and had tested the Empire down to her very roots. No one wanted to see another such revolt emerge.

I remembered, an experienced Speculatore had come and lectured us at our Academy about conditions in Palestine.

"Most lands, if you kill the local lords and chiefs, the people will buckle right under. These Judeans, they don't fight for their lords or chiefs, they fight for their God. I think they would keep fighting to the very last one. This would be bad, but it's worse. I can't count how many incidents where one weak, untrained Judean with a stick has slain an entire century of seasoned legionaries and that's not the worst of it. Their sages and holy men, they call themselves "Sons of God," and are called 'Teachers' by the people, they have a presence. It's hard to describe. They can make a thousand disciplined soldiers turn and flee. They can make a fortress unconquerable. They can become unfindable. Worse, it's completely unpredictable how this presence will manifest. That is what our task is. We are the counterbalance to these so-called Teachers. We lead the regular soldiers and root out their treasonous clinging to their religion. Remember, all they have to do is give up their God, and we would accept them as citizens of the Empire. They are completely unreasonable."

In my time, I was posted to Palestine and I began to carry out my duties. I found it quite disappointing. In the stories of my youth, service to the Empire was a constant adventure of glorious battle, the favors of beautiful women and mountains of golden plunder. The reality was far less glamorous.

With the Son of the Star revolt long put down, there was no more glorious battle, just ugly little skirmishes in the corners. My job was very boring and predictable. Each day I would seek out new informants, question my existing informants and root out the little clusters of treason their testimony uncovered. A hidden school where young children were still taught the ways of their forefathers, a woman and her daughter still lighting candles on Dies Veneris, someone hoarding scrolls of their ancient writings. Once I caught them hiding the scrolls in jars and putting the jars in hidden desert caves. It was an endless, thankless task.

The Judean women were even more committed than the men and spit on us when they thought we wouldn't see. Unlike other provinces where the local women offered themselves as wives and mistresses to soldiers of Rome seeking advantage, the Judean women would have nothing to do with us. Many lawful rapes resulted in the Judean woman slipping a concealed knife or spike into the legionaries' stomach.

Even when a group of legionaries would take a single woman, tie her up and use her for their common enjoyment, the story all too frequently ended with the woman getting loose when they all slept, stealing a sword and killing many soldiers before she escaped.

There were some women who sought our favor, but they were generally grasping hags.

There were some whores, but they were expensive and not very motivated to please. I also noticed the women seemed to self-select themselves to be whores when they realized they carried a pox. You could tell which they were fairly easily, they would offer Officers a discount.

If I saw such a whore, it would create an awkward situation for me. If I did what I should, run the whore through, the officer would become incensed.

"I was about to get a discount you fool!" The officer would yell.

Often, it would then mean I would have to kill the officer myself.

I could do what was practical, let the stupid officer sleep with the whore, then die of the pox. Perhaps I was serving the Legions by weeding out the incompetent and stupid. Still, that would mean I would have to go back later and how much time was I supposed to devote to hunting down poxy whores?

The worst of it was plunder. I was hardly accumulating any. Yes, I had got a pouch of coins here, a bracelet there, a child I could sell into slavery one time. Still, that was hardly enough to pay for some minor luxuries day to day, much less save anything for my days after service, so I could buy some land and restore my family name.

The problem was when it was Zion, it had been the wealthiest province in the Empire. After the Son of the Star revolt, the legions that had been sent in to quell the revolt had done an excellent job looting and pillaging so there wasn't much left. Even the slave market of the Empire had been depressed by the dumping of vast numbers of slaves into the supply. "Sending slaves to Palestine," had become a new phrase which implied a waste of time or a fool's errand. The child I had torn from its mother and sold was hardly worth the effort.

I had put most of my meager loot into burnishing my armor. Gold plate on my Roman Eagle, silver on the backs of my gauntlets. It was allowed for a legionnaire to dress up his armor, as long as it remained reasonably practical and the armor was still recognizable. It made the appearance, perhaps false, to my superior officers that I was a success, and as such, ready for a promotion.

Still, my days dragged on. What I did was no glorious battle, just the tedious business of Empire. Find the informer, grind useful information from the informer, weed out the embers of rebellion before they grew again into flame. I might as well have stayed in Rome and become a vigile.

One day I got a lead that the notorious Teacher, Judah ben Bava was in the process of defying Imperial law by insisting on continuing to worship his God. Hadn't we made it clear to these stubborn mules that worshipping their old God was forbidden? Why couldn't they do what people in every other province did and just fall in line?

Worse, Judah ben Bava was about to ordain more Teachers! That was just what we didn't need. The Teachers would do everything I had been warned in that lecture long ago as they continued to inspire the populace to resist Rome's lawful decree.

I had only to use my talent to torture with fear the location of this meeting from an informer, a young girl who cleaned the school.

I summoned a century of legionnaires and led them into the hills where the ordination was to occur. As we approached on a narrow mountain path, I found ben Bava red handed, ordaining other scholars as Teachers.

I heard ben Bava say to the others, "Flee, I will hold them here by the will of the One true God. Preserve what you have learned, teach the next generation."

The others begged, "No! Please! We can't lose your great learning and wisdom!" And, "How you will you stop them?"

Ben Bava replied, "I am a Son of God. By his will, I will hold them. Now Flee!"

The others fled. I felt optimistic then that we would be able to run them down and then they would all suffer ben Bava's fate, but the Teacher turned and looked at us then pronounced in a voice that echoed down the valley, "I am a Son of God! If it is the will of the One True God, you may pass."

I wanted to race forward, arrest ben Bava, then run down his students. Then I would take them all down to Aelia Capitolina where they could be tortured to death as a public lesson. It would be no easy crucifixion for them!

Instead, I found each step forward became harder and harder. It was like a wind made of light came up and started blowing dust in our eyes. I could hardly see. We were all trapped on that ledge. I started hearing legionnaires scream as they fell off the side. My training let me keep my head as all about me lost theirs.

I yelled back, "It was the young girl who cleaned the school who gave up your meeting and now you will all die for it!"

"You lie pagan deceiver!" ben Bava replied.

"She died screaming in terror and agony!" I yelled back, and I could feel ben Bava's will quaver.

"Her name was Rivkah!" I yelled back to prove my point.

With those last words, ben Bava could no longer deny my words and I could feel his heart break. I realized, the girl had been his beloved only child, his daughter. No doubt why she had struggled so hard.

With the realization, I could feel ben Bava's heart break and his faith failed. There was a split-second break in the wind and I yelled, "Legionnaires, throw your javelins!" While I pointed with my sword.

The disciplined legionnaires hurled their javelins and ben Bava was impaled many times.

I came forward and found ben Bava, lying on his back, run through in many places, blood dripping from his mouth. He shouldn't have been able to talk. However, he looked at me and there was fire in his eyes.

"You are empty and without merit. There is no authenticity in you. You will be cursed that all who look upon you will know, and the world will be as empty for you as it has become for me."

Then ben Bava looked to the sky and said in ringing tones, "Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad!"

Then he expired.

His last words were like being caught in a massive bell. I tried to cover my ears, but my hands pressed to my ears meant nothing. What the words did to my head was terrible. With the last, I collapsed to the ground unconscious.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 15: Let's Give Them Something to Talk About**

Novi was shaking my shoulder. I snapped awake and took a deep breath like I hadn't breathed for an hour. Then, as Novi tried to say something, I ran to the three-quarter bath off the forge and kneeled to the porcelain god as I heaved up a goodly portion of my breakfast. I think some of it stayed down, which was good because I needed the nutrition and throwing up is not the most pleasant activity. I'm pretty sure the steak, which I ate first, stayed down. The oatmeal I ate last pretty much all came back. The pancakes in between and the juice I had drunk all along? About half and half, give or take.

When I was done heaving, Tamar helped me up. I washed out my mouth at the sink and she helped me back to my chair.

I was taking a moment to pull myself back together. Being in that dream was one of the worst things I had ever experienced in my life. Compared to that dream, being Green Tooth and eating a girl by the side of the stream seemed clean and wholesome.

A second or two before I began to speak, Tamar, ever so patient, said, "So, nu, you asked us to come because you had something to tell us?"

"Yes, I did. Something terrible has happened. I need to let you know. Hopefully, we can find some way out of this situation." I began.

"We heard about Rabbi Kaitzman already, while you were asleep." Tamar replied.

"No, it's more than that." I answered then they waited patiently while I explained.

When I was done, Tamar let out an exasperated, "What moved you in the first place to go down to that police station?"

"A good relationship with the local police department would always be to our advantage. If I could ever get the certification of being an unpaid police reserve officer, many of the things I currently do illegally, could be legal. If things went wrong, I could hope that the good relationship might help shield us, send us help more quickly." I answered, perhaps a bit defensively.

"Well, that's not exactly how it worked out, is it?" Tamar replied facetiously.

"Yes, we can recriminate all day. However, we have a serious problem. How do we get every major magical power in the world to stop hunting us and trying to kill us?" I answered exasperated in turn.

"It seems to me, this is your first test." Tamar answered.

"My first test?" I replied uncomprehending, completely surprised by her answer.

"Yes. Now you are the functional leader and protector of our little community. It is your job to protect us and solve these problems." Tamar answered.

I was thinking "What were the previous problems? Fish dumplings?" But I said, "I thought this would be more of a group activity?"

Tamar gave me quite an expression and then said, "When the Church would send a team of necromancers, a bishop and his attendant priests, to hunt down and destroy the only ones who might choose to resist their power in the shadows, while at the same time very publicly creating false accusations that our community had kidnapped a Christian child to murder so we could use their blood to make matzo, who do you think had to deal with it? Yes, it was my father.

"The hypocrisy was amazing; their own savior had sat at a Passover table for his 'Last Supper.' Did he eat matzo with blood in it? Their savior was supposedly the one who talked about eating his blood and eating his flesh. As if it doesn't say in Leviticus that we should not eat blood. But whenever the lie rang out that Jews had kidnapped a Christian child for blood, the pogrom would come and so many innocents would get to die screaming. The oh so holy avengers were definitely never above rape, murder and looting.

"So now it is you. The forces of the magical world will come here to gain this power. They will seek to harm your family and those you care about. You must stop them."

"But I'm just a single, small fish in a huge ocean surrounded by huge predators?" I replied incredulously.

"No, you are a cricket in your own mind. When you fix that, you will know what to do." Tamar answered, and, at that moment, Yael clearly started crying in a tone even I recognized meant she had realized whoever was with her was not the Momma and she wanted Momma.

Tamar concluded, "You must excuse me."

In the polite flow of conversation, it meant she just needed to go take of our daughter. The subtext, which even my OCD brain got, was that this conversation was over. This problem was on my plate and I was expected to solve it.

With Tamar gone, I turned to Novi, "Do you have any suggestions?"

She looked at me with an expression I couldn't read and said, "I must point out my mandate requires me to protect you and yours here in the home. I have no obligation to exert myself outside thereof."

"Yes, I remember the circumstances under which you joined our household." I said.

I knew at some level, I had to be careful about Novi. However pleasant she made herself seem, underneath was probably a vast ocean of resentment.

"I know you are not here of your own free will. I know, to some extent, you must always resent that. Still, I am grateful for everything you have done. I am very mindful of what you did at the museum where you clearly exceeded your mandate. I'm very grateful for what you did earlier this morning. While it was in your mandate, you still did well.

"I will not surrender my advantage and release you. However, I will always try to take whatever actions I can to treat you with dignity and respect. I hope that minimizes the unpleasantness." I replied.

"There are worse masters I could have been sent to serve in worse situations." Novi replied about as positively as I could have hoped.

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"You told us about two dreams…" She began.

"Yes." I replied.

I had told them about the dream I had as the girl and the one I had as the younger version of White Man.

"I admit, my creative subconscious could have made those dreams up. However, they had a reality which seemed much different than a normal dream. That was why I mentioned them earlier." I explained further.

"It is very common for a human worker of magic of about your age to start having visions. It's also common for those visions to start as dreams as that is when your minds are most open and least likely to be clinging with a death grip to your idea of what reality is." Novi explained.

"Okay, so what do you suppose they mean?" I asked a bit startled by her answer.

"The second dream is obvious. You wanted to know a bit more about the one you call 'White Man.' So, you had a vision of him from his youth. Now you know a bit more. The first is more interesting for now. You wanted to know more about the provenance of that computer. Now you know." Novi answered.

"So, I have the entire magical world bearing down on me. Do you have any recommendations?" I asked a bit impatiently.

"It seems as if the young woman is the key. I think you should find her and bring her in." Novi replied.

That made sense. Based on what I knew about her, she knew she was in danger, but had nowhere to go. Also, it would put me in a stronger negotiating position. Maybe, if I could contact the Svartalves, they would be willing to extend me some sort of protection? Negotiate on my behalf with the other supernatural powers to leave me alone. I'm pretty sure the girl knew nothing, but I'm also sure any supernatural power would torture her for a few millennia in the hope there was something. While they tortured, hoping they could get what they wanted another way, they would be less inclined to deal with me. So, saving the girl helped her and helped me.

I made the calls to rally in Travis' and Jake's families. They would have to come up to my house for now. Luckily, we had plenty of room. This was not an arrangement that could last forever. The Lodge had to be closed again. Kaylee and Yumi would be missing class. I knew I had to get this situation resolved in one way or another, so everyone could go back to their lives.

Jed came by as everyone was moving in with a new set of tires which he installed on my truck.

"Tires aren't so bad. Luckily you had us order in a set of spares a while back. I'll take these back to the shop and see if I can do a patch job on any of them while we wait for replacements. The window though, is bad business. That's a custom part, minimum of a month wait before a new one will be made. Place that makes them is the best, so every rich guy wants 'em. They always have a backlog of orders. Money won't impress them to move up our order 'cause all their clients are rich." Jed explained.

Jed and I talked for a bit and we decided the best course of action was to make a steel window replacement. Steel wouldn't exactly be see through, but it would still have some armor protective value. Also, a conventional window wouldn't fit. Jed and I worked together in my shop, and, two hours later, a passable steel window replacement was made and welded on.

I had asked Travis and Jake to join me at the shop once they had their families settled. We were just finishing welding the "window" in when Travis showed up.

We all helped Jed get my dead tires in his truck bed and then Travis and I repaired to my shop just as Jake arrived, having timed his arrival perfectly to have missed all the heavy lifting.

"So, what is going on?" Travis asked clearly a bit annoyed and worried.

"Please, both of you, have seat." I began and then explained again what we were up against.

"Great, so every major buggity bu in the universe is on their way here to torture us all to death. Do I have that right?" Travis asked.

"Essentially, yes." I explained.

Then Jake, who had seemed to be taking everything better, though he was very grim popped up something I totally didn't expect.

"So, this White Man, he's like a Nazi?" Jake asked.

"I guess, in a way, yes." I replied. White Man had been part of a Roman effort to commit genocide against the Jews much like Germany's, so the comparison was appropriate.

"My grandma barely made it out Europe. She was part of a group of children they sent hoping they would be allowed to enter the US." Jake started to explain.

I was aware that many of the Jews who had been murdered by the Nazis during World War II would have had an opportunity to escape but could find no country which would accept them. This wholesale failure by the nations of the world, including the good old USA, had been just as responsible as Nazi death camps for many of the deaths. There had been a notable effort at one point to ship several hundred unaccompanied Jewish children to the United States in the hopes that the US would have mercy on children. Unfortunately, a counter effort, spearheaded by the American Legion, who claimed to be acting charitably because they didn't want to "split up families" resulted in the children being sent back to their deaths. Apparently, family unity was more important than children not dying screaming.

Jake continued, "When they were gonna be sent back, my grandma managed to jump off the boat at night and swim to another ship in the harbor. The people on that boat helped her to land and she found her way to a synagogue where she was given shelter. Eventually, she got legal status. As far as she knows, she was the only kid on that boat who survived.

"My Grandma mostly raised me while my Ma was out making a living, so we could survive. She would tell me stories about her family back in Europe. I was eight before I asked, 'Grandma' where are all these relatives you keep talking about?' She looked at me and said, 'The Nazis killed them all.'

"Every kid I went to school with always seemed to have a family with fifteen brothers and sisters and fifteen set of cousins which each had fifteen kids in it. They all knew they could pick on me 'cause all I had was a Mother and a Grandma.

"Whichever way this is gonna turn out, we should do something about this 'White Man' guy. Seems he's been kicking around too long making trouble. I think it's time for that to end."

Neither Travis or I said anything for a few moments. We weren't sure if Jake was finished. When it was clear Jake was finished I replied.

"I would like to put an end to that monster too. He's been tormenting me for years. However, we have to remember he's an ancient, magically powerful creature. He's probably at least a step, maybe more, up the food chain from Green Tooth and Green Tooth almost did for us. If the opportunity does present itself, I'd be quite happy to put paid on his bill. However, I put the lives and safety of everyone in the household as a much higher priority."

Jake didn't reply, he just turned his head to look at the wall. I got the sense he didn't approve of my reply. Well, that was two for today.

After a few moments Travis spoke up, "So what's the plan? We just sit here till they roll over the walls and carry us away for torture?"

Travis was easier to reply to than Jake, but still difficult.

"I've talked with Tamar and Novi. Novi thinks this girl may be the key to the situation. I agree. At the very least, it would be to our and her advantage to have her safe here. So, we need to go get her."

"Okay, how do we do that?" Travis continued.

"What I was thinking is that you and I will take out my truck and go find her while Jake stays here and holds down the fort." I answered.

"But how are we going to find her?" Travis persisted.

"Well," I began then paused, "I assumed we would use your particular gifts to track her down."

"I need some sort of connection for my 'gift' to work. I have no connection to that girl. If you had liberated something personal of hers from the po-lice," Travis pronounced "police" in a definitely two syllable way, "I could use that to track her. Without some connection other than your magic dream, that won't work."

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	16. Chapter 16

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 16: True Faith**

"Oh, I had been kind of depending that." I answered taken aback.

"Well sorry to burst your bubble, but I need some connection and you're retelling of a dream don't qualify." Travis replied with a little heat.

Then I had another idea.

"Maybe a more wizardly option is available." I answered in a way that I hoped sounded like I was magical badass, but probably made me look more nerdy and pompous.

I'd been studying Magical Technique with Novi for a while, belatedly getting the sort of tutelage a serious mage might have gotten when they were an adolescent. One basic area of magical practice seemed to be thaumaturgy.

Two of the most difficult things to do with magic were affecting things at a distance and making an effect smart. You want to cast a spell that will reach out across the world and only do a specific thing to a person? You'd better be a god. There was a work around.

Thaumaturgy, or "as above so below," was the use of connected items to have an effect remotely. The classic voodoo doll would be an application of thaumaturgy. Another classic use was to create a tracking spell. Essentially, the connected item created a shortcut.

I pulled out some gear I had made up for this spell. I had a gold needle, didn't want it to get magnetized accidentally, at the end of a silk thread. Still this spell needed something of the girl's. The only thing I had that really belonged to the girl was the data she had stolen. So, I took a bit of data, put it on a thumb drive and tried to do the spell.

It did not go well.

As I have explained before, I'm better than most human magic workers at working magic around technology. That said, I'm not perfect. It had been pushing things for me to unlock the computer in the evidence room. Then I was doing magic near a high-tech item. Now I was actually trying to use a piece of high technology as part of a spell. It didn't work.

I kept setting up the spell, a long tedious procedure, only to have the spell wipe the thumb drive, or burn the drive out completely or just not work.

I spent a couple very frustrating hours having to completely reset the spell and fix or replace the thumb drive.

I was dirty, sweaty, and seemed to have burnt a new spot on one of my hands with each attempted casting. Then I actually, accidentally, stabbed myself with the needle. It hurt. I said a bad word I'm not proud of. I was about to stop this casting to start cleaning up when the completely unexpected happened, the needle went hard pointing north and west.

Holy crap it had worked!

"Travis let's get in the truck and go, I think I got it."

I could tell Travis was kind of surprised at my success. Well, he had been watching me fail for over two hours. However, perhaps while expecting me to fail, he had, in what I will take as a post-facto vote of confidence, been preparing to leave. Travis had loaded for bear. I knew he was wearing his FN Five-SeveN in an appendix carry and the knife I made him on his right hip. He was also wearing all the leather armor I had made him. He had also gotten his, now modified, P-90 and put that in the truck. He also had loaded a bunch of mags with the illegal steel core black tip "work" ammo I had acquired for him.

I got in the driver's seat and began to drive. Travis got in the passenger seat to ride shotgun with his P-90 pointed down between his legs. He would be ready to spray death at a moment's notice.

The spell on the needle held, but tracking this way was new for Travis and me. I knew the basic idea was to triangulate. We still ended up traveling over most of north west Omaha. We even somehow ended up in Elkhorn, where we ran through a fast food sandwich place because we were both tired and hungry.

Eventually, we had the location narrowed down to a spot south of Dodge near 108th Street.

I was having a hard time, with the shaking of the truck, movement and being distracted by driving, eating a sandwich and drinking a soda, all while trying to get a clear read.

I pulled into the back-parking lot of a defunct Italian restaurant. I figured I could take a second to eat my sandwich, drink my soda and get a good read on the needle. I had just set the needle, when it felt like the truck had been hit by sideways hail. I noticed something long and thin sticking out of the front left wing over the tire. Then I felt something had hit me in the left but cheek.

"What the hell?!" I started to yell as there was a loud explosion of to my right.

Travis yelled, "You should look right!"

I was thinking I had a lot happening on my left, but I looked.

A gas main had detonated in the middle of Lamp Park, which would be weird all by itself. However, from the continuing jet of flame had emerged a troop of knights. Yes, medieval knights, almost too perfect medieval knights, not in the sense they probably were, but in a perfect idealized sense of what medieval knights should have been. The knights were riding big gallant steeds. Some were holding lances. Some were waving swords over their heads. At least two had spears held up ready to throw. The knights were all done up in shades of red of gold, which made sense, since they were literally made out of fire. More importantly, they were charging straight at me!

I was in a lot just south of the defunct restaurant which was clearly infested with denizens which were firing big arrows at me. The arrows were being fired with such force, the one in my hip had apparently gone through my truck's reinforced steel door, the ceramic armor insert, the internal reinforced door card, my armored coat, and everything underneath.

I was pointing south east.

I had a group of knights, made of fire, literally charging me from the southwest from Lamp Park.

Just then, I noticed the gold needle of my spell was clearly pointing at something straight ahead. I did the only thing that made sense.

I gunned the engine hard. My big green truck's thousand plus ponies answered my call once more.

I blew out of that parking lot. The back of the parking lot faced Lamp Park. One was not supposed to exit that way. The truck bounced hard over a curb, which felt great to my hip, through a fence and into Lamp Park. Lights on the dash told me both of my left tires were punctured. Once again, armored run flat tires put their heart into running for me. I shot across the park's grass lawn, down a forty-five-degree cement ditch wall, across waist high water, snorkel don't fail me now, up the other forty-five-degree incline side and into the Hawthorne Inn and Suites parking lot. I pulled around the side of the hotel, so I wouldn't be in the line of sight of the restaurant, then backed into a place that wasn't really a parking spot by the back door.

The knights had meanwhile slammed into the defunct restaurant. Clearly something, likely a group of somethings, were responding by firing arrows at the knights. Large parts of the building were catching fire.

I pulled out a notebook and accessed the Hawthorne Inn.

Yes, maybe I should have been driving away as the two baddies that had just been fighting over me went at it. Except the girl was in the hotel.

I had access to the hotel through one of my clients which owned the holding company which owned the hotel. I quickly found one room, room 211, had somehow mysteriously stopped being on the registry of available rooms, but was still consuming electricity for air conditioning, having laundry delivered, and using hot water.

"This is the place." I announced.

I wanted to get out but realized I couldn't. I was now attached to the door.

"If you wouldn't mind opening my door from the outside?" I asked Travis.

He looked at me funny but nodded and got out. Travis wasn't worrying about what he looked like in public, he had the P-90 in his right hand, pointing down, but in a tactical way. He came around the truck the long way, so as to keep the truck between him and the fight at the restaurant and opened my door slowly. That hurt, but not too bad. Travis stayed behind the door.

I got out, winced as pressure went on my hip, and found a metal tool box about the right size. I dumped out the box's tools into a Rambox, and then collected the arrows which had gone in many places on my truck, digging deep through steel and armor. When I was done, I locked the toolbox in the bed and led Travis to the locked back door of the hotel. I took along a tool I thought I might need.

Travis looked at the problem. As I was deciding if I should blast the lock, Travis kneeled down, took one look at the lock, pulled out his wallet, took a homemade looking plastic card out and swiped it in the lock. The lock light went green and we were in.

We proceeded up the conveniently placed stairs to the second floor and found that 211 was only a few doors down.

We got to the door, Travis swiped the lock with his homemade key, then opened the door only to find the deadbolt thrown. He leaned back to get out of the way, I leaned back and kicked the door in hard. The door slammed open and we were in.

There was the girl, sitting at the room's desk over what I expect was a stolen notebook, using stolen Wi-Fi to do heaven only knows what. She was wearing some sort of black t-shirt and tight yoga pants. Just as she had been in the dream.

It took her a second to realize something was happening. To her credit, the doe in the headlights look lasted less than a split second. Than she was going for the window.

Unfortunately for her, the split second was too long.

Since my first encounter with Novi, I'd had a long time to think about the problem I had faced. The problem had been, I'd wanted to stop, and perhaps capture Novi, not spray her guts through multiple hotel rooms. Admittedly, even if I had sprayed Novi with some of my heavier fire power, it likely would have had little effect on her and considering how she turned my less lethal attack back on me, I was probably lucky I hadn't tried.

That made me realize I might face a similar situation later, so I started to do research. Non-lethal weapons were a growth industry and a rapidly evolving technology. The US military, among others, was dealing with a lot of situations where there were aggressive rioters and other people who needed to be forcibly calmed down. The problem was a bit more complicated than it sounds.

Humanity has been developing various ways to kill other humans since the first caveman picked up a rock or stick and realized it would help kill a rival. Things to stop, but not kill were a relatively recent subtlety.

Still the US military was on the way to developing a number of promising options from microwave emitters, to goo guns to various Taser-type options. Many US police forces, including here in Omaha, had started equipping their officers with Taser pistols in an effort to reduce the number of lethal incidents.

The best one for me would likely have been a Taser gun of some sort. The problem was, Taser darts, on the ends of wires were slow. A fast human might bat them aside. The, often super-fast, super natural buggity boos I dealt with would laugh. Then I ran across one weird technology I had thought had merit.

The dart and wire of the Taser gun is about delivering an electric shock which induces a disabling seizure in the target. Electricity will move down the path of least resistance. The dart and wire form that path. Someone had come up with another idea of a way to create the path. They found that firing a high-power beam of infrared laser light at the target would ionize the air creating a path of least resistance. Then one could unleash a bunch of electricity which would shoot down the path. Viola, Taser with no wires or darts and laser fast. The problem was components, cost and electricity use. One needed a powerful infrared laser, the unit from grandpa's TV remote would not do. Then one needed a LOT more electricity than a typical Taser gun would need since one would be operating a laser and ionized air is still not nearly as efficient a conductor as wires. Lastly, the device was build-able, from off the shelf parts, but would cost almost a million dollars a copy, not something practical for the military or police forces to buy large numbers of.

I, on the other hand, had fewer financial constraints.

The device I had brought from the truck, expecting our slippery young lady to flee swiftly and well, was my version of this infrared Taser. The top was a boxy piece that looked most like a radar gun. At the back was a grip which I was holding in my right hand. At the bottom of the grip was an even larger rectangular box filled with batteries. When I held my Taser out, it actually had fairly decent ergonomics. The bottom box balanced the top box and leaned against the bottom of my forearm. The whole thing was covered in what would look like beige plastic but was actually very durable and bullet proof material. I thought, in passing, as I fired, that the device needed a better sighting system, though the Taser also had a very pointable visible laser which I put on the small of the young lady's back, the exposed part not covered by t-shirt or yoga pants and pulled the trigger.

I thought, with a bit of humor, she looked like an electrocuted cat from a Looney Tunes cartoon. Then she flopped bonelessly to the carpeted floor.

"Gather up her things." I said as I slung my now proven device. A quick search showed she didn't have anything on her person. I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. She was small, maybe ninety pounds, probably in her early teens. Her features were a mix of Caucasian and Oriental. Something was very familiar about her, but I couldn't tell for the life of me what it was.

Travis very mechanically took a pillow case and filled it with her things, including what I expect, was a stolen notebook computer. Her things didn't fill the whole pillow case.

We walked back out, Travis carrying the pillow case over his shoulder, his P-90 pointed expecting trouble.

I tossed Travis the keys when we got outside and said, "Drive."

Travis caught the keys and opened the truck. I put the girl in the back-passenger seat and put away my new toy. Then I joined her in the back seat. Travis threw her things on the front passenger seat as he got into the driver's seat and we were off.

It had been past noon when I first started having conversations and we had then been delayed by hours trying to get the spell to cast. Then more time had burned by as we did our inefficient triangulating search. It was now late into twilight as Travis drove down Dodge toward home. We passed the Lodge on our left, now dark and shuttered. I wondered if it would survive the current conflagration? We were close. Minutes from home.

As Travis got ready to make the right turn from Dodge south onto 72nd Street, the girl began to stir. I had been putting a connection into her mind as she slept, violating the Fourth Law of Wizarding. Again.

She was muzzy as she said, "Wha..where um aye?"

"You're safe. No one will hurt you. We're friends and we're taking you to a place of relative safety. I didn't want to stun you, but I needed you to stop for a moment and listen and I knew it was the only way. If you don't want to stay with us, no one will hold you against your will." I started saying.

I noticed we were stopping at one of the, roughly, eight thousand lighted intersections on 72nd between Dodge and Pacific. We were close to Furniture Mart. I noticed a large tent was up. That wasn't unusual. Furniture Mart had tents like that up all the time for different promotions and sales.

As we came to a stop, the girl suddenly snapped fully awake and said, "You got that right grandpa!"

Then she had leapt out her door and was heading toward the tent.

I was making to pursue, though my hip was getting stiffer and more painful by the second.

Then the wall on the side of the tent fell down and there was White Man and an army of the ant-men creatures.

The girl bolted right into the arms of White Man and then froze solid. White Man spun her around and I could see the girl's body frozen in an unnatural position, her face a frozen rictus of shock and terror.

For all my fear, I was almost out of the car. I was ready to have my showdown with White Man right then and there.

"Oh, how sweet. He doesn't want to let the nice girl go. Minions, explain it to him."

Travis hit the gas and the truck ran a red light as the ants all opened up. This time they were all carrying old AK-47s. The sudden acceleration slapped the girl's door, the one with the steel "window," shut in my face, which was incredibly frustrating, but probably saved my life as the powerful 7.62x39 rounds those rifles fired started slamming into the truck.

Eighty-seven seconds later we were pulling up the driveway in a now so damaged it would likely be totaled truck.

All the senior people, Tamar, Novi, Jake and Travis joined me in my shop to talk.

Travis explained what had happened. I was too furious to speak.

When Travis was done I said, "It doesn't make logical sense, but I am going to go and find that girl. Then I am going to take her back from that son of a bitch. If that means now is the time when we throw down. So be it."

"Do we even know where she is?" Travis asked, exasperated at my less than optimal for survival pronouncement.

We all looked at each other and then Novi said, "Is the tracking spell still working?"

I went out to the truck and got the thread and needle. I picked it up and the needle pointed straight down.

Even as everyone had something to say in response to my pronouncement and the needle's direction, though I noticed Tamar looked strangely pleased, I passed out and collapsed to the ground.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

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Please help. Thank-you.


	17. Chapter 17

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 17: White Rabbit**

I was again on the narrow mountain pass near Aelia Capitolina. Ben Bava was dead. We put his body on a shield. Nine legionnaires had died when they fell off the ledge. Twenty-three legionnaires had various injuries, which varied from being blinded, deafened, lamed or had lost the use of one or both arms.

All for one Teacher and his students, now ordained, long gone. Of course, his pockets were empty.

I noticed a number of legionnaires suddenly taken aback when they looked at me. None lost discipline, but clearly something was amiss about my appearance. I checked my gear, all seemed as it should be. I checked for bleeding, found none.

We made our motley way back down to Aelia Capitolina. I had Bava's body hung from the wall near the gate which lead to Caesarea. The people would get to see Bava defiled by birds and his corpse rot without dignity. An excellent lesson on the fruitlessness of rebellion.

Of course, I suspected every man, woman and child on the street knew Bava was ordaining students. The absence of the students was proof they had gotten away. This undermined the lesson.

I continued to mark that I was receiving many strange looks. I checked in a bronze mirror and I noticed my face was unusually pale. I checked my reflection again and examined my body. I found I was white all over! Not simply pale, but unnaturally white! Like the whitest plaster or an unpainted marble statue! Everything, my skin, my hair, my nails, even my eyes! My appearance was now quite shocking.

No doubt all part of Bava's curse. Well, it was just color. How much could that matter.

I resumed my duties the next day.

When I arrived from my quarters to the mess to have my breakfast, the slave boy came and delivered a summons, "The Commander would see you immediately after breakfast."

I imagined he wanted a direct report of the previous day's debacle. Not the best position to be in, but I was hardly the first Speculatore who had been in such a scrap with a local Teacher.

I finished my breakfast of grains and meat. I then polished my armor quickly to make sure I made a good appearance. I then went and sought out the Commander and found him in his office.

As I walked through the door to his office, I took a moment to look on the Commander, seated in his chair at his table. He looked as I might twenty years hence if I was still here in Palestine trying to put down the relentless rebellion of these ungrateful Judeans. His face was lined. Only the strength of the steel in his slowly disintegrating chest armor held in his gut. His hair had grey in it.

"What happened up there yesterday?" The Commander began in his normal gruff demeanor.

"Their Teacher, ben Bava, was able to call on that power again. It almost destroyed the whole company. However, I was able to overcome him. We experienced some casualties, but we got our man and he hangs on the wall by the gate." I said with some confidence.

It wasn't the best report, but I had done the standard practice and glossed over the bad points like the escaping Teachers and casualties and focused on the positive.

Then the Commander, who spent most of his life asleep, drunk or in lethargy complaining of the heat did the most shocking thing, he exploded up to his feet and began to yell at me!

"And what of the escaped Teachers? What of the casualties? All lost to some unknown magic? Did you forget to mention those? One man with no magic stopped an entire company? I find that hard to believe. I think you were drunk or worse. Perhaps a bit of cowardice? Eh?"

I was very taken aback by the sudden verbal attack. I couldn't think what to say. It was bad enough to be accused of inebriation, but cowardice? That was unheard of! Normally such an accusation would have to be answered with violence. I was speechless.

Before I could think of something to say the Commander issued an order, "You are to restrict yourself to barracks until I can think of appropriate punishment."

With nothing to say, I left the Commander's barracks and took myself to my barracks.

I spent, perhaps, an hour feeling sorry for myself. Then I realized to stay was death. This was not a matter that could be resolved with some barracks punishment. I had been accused of cowardice. It would have to answered in blood, most likely my own.

I gathered up my things and executed the plan I had long prepared for the day when I might have to flee. My barracks room had a small window, too small and too high to leave from. Except I could remove the wood frame from the stone opening, expanding it just wide enough for my thin frame to shimmy through. I also had a short length of rope. Just enough to let myself down most of the way and only, perhaps, a man's height to the ground.

I left my own armor in the room, even the extra silver and gold badges. I dropped my bag out the window and followed.

I could have taken my armor but leaving it would make them think I was coming back. That was why the gold and silver had to be left too. It would create the appearance I was returning. Perhaps I was just out using a toilet, or seeing a whore? Perhaps, getting some drink? The doubt would slow pursuit.

I made my way to a spot where I knew the petty cash was kept. It was a small stone office just off the Cardo. There was a centurion and a legionnaire guard. I had worked hard over the years to build a friendly rapport with the man for this moment when I would betray him, but it seemed all for naught?

"What do you want?" The Centurion snarled at me with complete suspicion.

Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

I reached out to the men and filled them with fear and dread. The legionnaire never had a chance before my good iron knife went through his armor's belly and up into his chest.

The Centurion was on his feet and had his Gladius in his hand, much good it would do him. A fresh lance of dread made him double over, bringing his neck right to my hand. I took the hair from the top of his head in my left hand and slaughtered him like a pig.

I checked the men and took their meagre purses. Then the object of my efforts, the lockbox. I used the key from the Centurion's belt and opened it. I knew some days there was more and some less. This seemed less, but it would have to do.

Of course, this could not be one of the many moments they would go unbothered for hours. Their door began to open, and I hurled myself against the wall beside the door. The poor minor officer walked in to gossip with the Centurion and didn't even notice me. Just as he was about to scream, my knife found his liver through the small of his back. One more purse joined my collection and I was on my way.

My next stop was a spot where I had cavalry armor hidden. I had collected the armor from a fallen cavalry legionnaire officer after an earlier episode like the one I had with Bava. I recognized the armor for what it was. A pass to go where I will.

I dressed in the armor and took the scroll case I had acquired with it. With the scroll case, I was now an accredited messenger, and the case was my credential.

I went to the Aeolia Capitolina military stables, the case was permission to requisition a horse. I picked one of the beasts from the stable man making sure I took the Commander's favorite. I showed the outside of the message to the stable hand which said I was off for Alexandria.

Then I rode out the Caesarea Gate, saluted ben Bava's corpse and rode north.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	18. Chapter 18

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 18: When You're Going**

I woke up. I was lying on the gurney in my own clinic. Kelly was there keeping an eye on me. When she saw I had regained consciousness, she hit a signal. Novi came through the door as she was doing it.

It had taken some explaining to Novi that she shouldn't just appear places, she should come through a door.

"I am glad to see you are awake." Novi said.

I hurt all over. I felt sick. My left hip was particularly unhappy.

"What happened?" I asked.

Novi smiled as she replied, "You were poisoned by the arrow that pierced you."

Great.

"Am I going to live?" I asked.

"Yes." Novi replied.

Considering how I felt, I wasn't sure if that was good news.

"Please tell me what happened after I passed out?" I asked.

Novi nodded slowly, sometimes she didn't get the beats of human conversation, "We rushed you here. We undressed you. We saw the wound on your left thigh. Travis explained you had been hit by an arrow and showed us the arrow. I made an antidote salve which was applied to your wound. Kelly gave you two stitches. Tamar fed you a general curative."

Just as Novi finished speaking, Tamar came through the door.

"Tamar, you fed me a general curative?" I asked her.

"Chicken soup." She replied.

"Ahh." I answered.

"What shot those arrows?" I asked.

Novi answered, "Creatures of the Faerie Winter Court, likely goblins."

"Of course." I thought sardonically to myself.

"What were those knights?" I asked.

Novi replied again, "Riders of the Flame. Creatures of the Faerie Summer Court."

"Diograssach." Tamar said.

"Dio gra what?" I asked.

"The leader of the Riders of the Flame. She and I have a bit of history." Tamar replied.

Then Tamar added, "When the one Court acts here on Earth, frequently that will draw agents of the other court. Particularly during Spring, and now, during the Fall. It's unusual, but not unknown for an agent of the courts to act directly against a mortal here on Earth, but the goblins are thought of as being Wyldfae and, thus, less bound by the rules governing the Courts. Also, they could be acting on someone's behalf."

Well that was all useful to know.

"What about those ant things with White Man? They were the same things that tried to get me at that make-believe traffic stop." I asked.

"Those were Myrmidons." Novi explained.

"Myrmidons, you mean like from the Illiad?" I asked.

"Yes, they have been around as cheap mercenaries and scum for a long time." Tamar replied.

"I thought they became people in the Illiad?" I asked still confused.

"A mistake of translation. As you should realize reading about Thetis, she was quite a sorceress. First rendering Achilles almost invulnerable and then summoning the Myrmidons to be his soldiers." Tamar explained.

"Is there any special trick to kill the Myrmidons? Do they have any special weakness?" I asked.

"Shoot them a lot. They're not too bright." Tamar explained.

"Ahh. Will I recover?" I decided to change tacks.

Novi answered, "You should make a full recovery."

"How soon?" I asked.

"With your constitution, it's hard to say." Novi replied.

"Why are you still being lazy in bed?" Tamar asked demonstrating her profound ability to show sympathy. 

"Umm, I'm not sure I can stand?" I replied.

"Ask you're wolf for help and get moving." Tamar replied.

That was actually a good idea.

I reached inside and asked my wolf for help. I felt the wolf move and began to feel substantially better.

I dragged myself off the gurney and stood. It wasn't pleasant, but I managed it and I wasn't going to fall down either.

Tamar had brought me some clean clothes. I got dressed and went out to the truck.

It was messed up.

On the left side were a number of holes, including in the tires and fuel tank from arrows.

The back and right side were pocked with bullet holes. I stopped counting at 39. Clearly, Travis and I had survived due to the time and effort I had placed into bullet proofing the truck. Still she was covered in dents and holes. Once again, the tires were holed and the fuel tank pierced. The rear and front left passenger windows had held but were badly shot up. Several bullets had entered the engine compartment, and she was leaking every type of fluid on the ground. She was pretty dead.

I called Jed.

"Yeah, I just got those two tires patched…" he began.

"The truck's dead. We need to start prep on a new truck." I cut him off.

"Oh, okay. I'll get right on that." Jedi replied.

I had the presence of mind to say, "Thank-you," and we hung up.

I went to my forge office and checked the news. It had been a big news day for Omaha.

There had been a large natural gas pipeline explosion in Lamp Park. Several thousand homes were without service. MUD had the pipeline shut off and was expediting repairs. All the service trucks had done an excellent job obscuring my tire tracks.

The defunct Italian restaurant next to the park had burned down.

There had also been a major shooting incident. The police spokesman said it had been a gangland assassination attempt. Several witnesses remembered seeing a Cadillac Escalade leaving the scene. How, exactly, my Dodge Ram could have been seen as a Cadillac Escalade was a mystery I doubted I would ever solve. More interesting is that they had remembered the Myrmidons as men in suits, which explained a lot about descriptions of Achilles' soldiers.

It was coming morning, I was hungry, but considering what I was about to try and do, I decided not to eat.

I had placed the arrows, which I now saw were made of black ice, still in the tool case, in a deep freeze. You can use your fancy magic weapons on me, but then I'm going do my best to figure out how you did it.

I looked at the truck again as I put my toys away. I wasn't going to bother to take the stun gun again. I couldn't imagine there would be much on the other side that I would want to stun. I suspected the girl would be happy to see us by the time we got there, and we wouldn't have to worry about her running away again too quick.

I tried for a moment to imagine what we were walking into. I was never the kind of kid who'd been into horror movies. I figured, if you have the horses to do it, do it. If you don't, don't. There were things that scared me, like leaving my family, but horrified?

I had told Travis to be ready at dawn. He had nodded with grim determination.

"Will you be able to track her now?" I had asked.

He had nodded with resignation.

I pulled my gear together. It had taken a beating on my recent excursion to the Hawthorne. Still, it had some more to give. This time I was loading for bear. Full armor, all mags, helmet, all the toys. I had selected Big Baby, the shotgun, because I figured I was more likely to be needing to hit area effects. A group of bats might all go with a single shot gun blast. I wouldn't be carrying the rifle and shotgun, while theoretically possible, it was way too bulky. Not just the rifles, but the magazines and the carrying rigs. I suppose if I needed to hump stuff across a distance I could have put something together, like a cart, but for going into combat at the live action castle of horrors? Rather be able to move quick.

I wasn't sure what we would face. Normal horror stuff meant nothing to me, but I'm sure they were experts in being awful. We'd see how their awful and my shotgun rounds got along.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	19. Chapter 19

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 19: Should I Stay Or Should I Go**

I suppose I could have belted myself up, but it's always easier to get armored up with help. I checked to see if Tamar was available.

"Sorry Dear, I'm feeding the baby." Was her reply.

I probably should have had Novi help me then or done it myself. I was selfish. I called down to Brenda.

"Sure, okay, I'll be right up." She replied.

She came to my shop in the garage and helped me into my gear. In some ways, that was a good thing. Brenda probably knows my gear better than anyone but me. She noticed I had a scope in standby mode. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but it was nice to find it in the garage. Item by item on the checklist, she helped me in. I'm not too proud to say that when I was done, I held her for a long time under the coat. I'm not some sort of badass who longs to jump into ugly dangerous situations.

In the end, after a last passionate kiss, she pulled down my helmet and kissed me by my goggles on the forehead.

"For luck." She told me with a smile.

I was grateful. I didn't understand why Tamar was being so standoffish and cold, but my heart could use some warmth at that moment.

I walked out of the garage shop to see Travis and Jake waiting for me.

"Jake, will you watch the ranch?" I asked.

"Yes, but I feel like I should be going with you two." He replied, just a shadow of his teen sullenness left.

"You probably should, but then there wouldn't be anyone back here." Travis replied.

"What about Tamar and Novi?" Jake asked, his tone serious, not challenging.

"Tamar was too busy taking care of our child to see us off. Novi? Novi is a great ally and I'm grateful for her. However, she isn't of our household. If something happened and she left or changed sides, there would be no one here. No, one of us should be here." I answered maybe still just a little bitter about Tamar's cold shoulder.

"Fine, I'll stay. You two just be careful." He replied.

"We will." Travis said with a teasing smirk as he tapped Jake's broad chest walking by as we walked to the spot we felt best for our entrance. Considering we knew nothing of the layout of the other side, the best spot seemed to be the one that was straight down from where the needle said the girl was.

When we were standing over the spot, I waived my axe through the air. I hadn't had any reason to do something like this in years. Still, reality cut away cleanly and a gateway to what Tamar called "Marchenland" opened before us.

Travis and I stepped through. It looked a lot like the grounds of my house. A little more ornate. The spot we had gone through was near the driveway, an area of lawn surrounded by the driveway and concrete walks between various buildings. Here it seemed the same, except the walks seemed to be made of marble and the driveway of gravel. It all had fancier mouldings. The buildings were square and made of granite but had steepled rooves.

After a few moments, Travis piped up, "It's a motherjeebin' cemetery!"

As soon as Travis said it, it all clicked. It _was_ as if someone had redone my home as a cemetery. What was worse, a nicer cemetery than my home was a house.

"Well isn't that charming. They won't have far to go for service. Can you track her?" I replied testy.

Travis nodded and began to lead us. We walked for a while, touring the whole place. At the borders, it was surrounded by restful endless clouds. It was like the whole place was an island floating in a cloudy see.

Eventually, my internal gyro-compass, and my ability to remember the layout, told me we were back at the same clearing we had arrived.

"Hold up, we just went in a big circle. Either they're moving her around or they're doing something to mess with you." I said as we stopped.

We looked around for a second and I realized I was afraid to waste time.

Then Travis decided, "Well, if we can't do this the nice way, we'll do it the hard way."

Travis then walked up to the door of the nearest mausoleum, and using the reinforced but of his rifle, broke the door in.

Immediately a huge grungy humanoid shape with a hockey mask burst out the mausoleum door wielding a machete!

The thing knocked Travis on his rear end as he raced by without trying as it was clearly focused on charging me.

This whole place had made no sense to me before this thing showed up and made less now. I'd always figured, if I run into something like Michael Meyers, I'll use my shotgun to blow it's head clean off. If that doesn't stop it, the arms and legs can go next. I had dealt with something far more terrifying in the form of Chebelforth and he was permanently relocated to a concrete sarcophagus buried on the property. I then put word to deed.

With speed both supernatural and from long practice on the three-gun field, I shouldered Big Baby and fired. Lina and Stacy would have been proud. I fired into the thing's center of mass.

My shotgun shell hit it hard.

Big Baby was firing 3.5-inch 12-gauge shells of my own manufacture. I'd returned to steel flechettes. My shotgun shell started with a nice long cork of compressed stainless steel flechettes, backed by a mixture of size double ought and four pellets all pushed by a magnum load of high-performance power and fast acting primer. Yes, the flechettes got a nice rubdown with tracer material so they burned all the way to target. Yes, the whole package had been enchanted by me to Stage 6 effectiveness.

The first shell hit Michael in the upper chest, just below the mask. That staggered him. A substantial amount of his material went out his back. One could see daylight through the hole, and also that his innards were still on fire.

Quite amazingly, Michael pulled himself together and came at me again. This time I just aimed a bit higher and his head sailed away like a football.

He was still staggering around, so I shot him in his right hip. With leg and torso no longer connected in any meaningful way, the body collapsed to the ground. The life seemed to go out of him then and the body, now clearly made of mud and plant matter, settled to the ground inert.

I passed by the former horror movie star to Travis to find he was a bit embarrassed, but fine and was pulling himself up.

He turned the flashlight on the end of his rifle and began to enter the mausoleum.

I followed and, just as we were about to cross the threshold, suddenly Michael was standing behind my left shoulder.

"Be careful where you go!" White Man said smiling.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I whipped around to face White Man, but Michael was already the pile of bits it had already been.

I was trying to regain my composure when we started to hear a buzzing coming from the mausoleum. Suddenly, thousands of flying vermin were coming out the previously sealed door. They started landing on Travis and me and digging under our clothes. We both danced desperately and futilely trying to stop the endless wave. As each bug found it's way in, it bit with a mouth that felt like a pinprick of molten metal. We were both writhing on the ground in seconds screaming.

"If, you, don't," Travis grunted out word by word, "get, the, gate, open, soon, we're, done for."

Well that was as obvious as it was unclear why I hadn't already done it.

Great, terrified, defeated and stupid.

I managed, just as I was losing consciousness, to re-open the gate. Travis and I fell through and we fell about four feet before we landed on the ground. Travis landed on the grass. Luckily for me, the concrete broke my fall.

Novi started trying to do something to stop the bugs, but it wasn't working. I wanted to pass out, the pain was so intense. Jake walked up to us, knelt between us, put a hand on each of our foreheads and said the Shema.

It was like a force pushed the vermin back straight down out of my body into the ground.

Kelly had to give Travis and me something, so we would sleep.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

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	20. Chapter 20

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 20: On the Road to Antioch**

I rode north, through Caesarea where I only stopped to change horses and up to Antioch. The response to my actions was slow, but in the Roman way, was thorough. Despite all the colloquialisms, speed of horse was still the fastest method of communication available. One of the reasons Rome couldn't leave the benighted Judeans alone was that their land sat at a crossroads between Africa, Asia and Europe. That meant someone fleeing from the Judean lands could go in any direction. I had gone north.

I know they looked south first because of the map case. It was the sort of clue they loved. Eventually, when word would circle back from Alexandria, they would look north. I could ride as fast as I could, but it was hard to ride at night and a man needed sleep. If I fell exhausted from the saddle and cracked my skull open on some deserted trail, I would be just as dead. Word of my crimes would follow me night and day.

I was just north of Antioch when I spotted the messenger bearing news of my crimes. I waylaid him. It was Aurelius. I knew him, he was something of a philosopher. Liked to spout off in bars after a pint of ale. He could fire a lance of lightning like Jupiter himself. He also had classical good looks, long hair like the mythical golden fleece, a face they could use to model for gods when they carved statues and a well-formed body. He was popular with the men, who wouldn't want one like that in your lines when you were facing a serious battle?

My first blow with my veneficium rendered him blind. The next struck him in the gut and he began to vomit. Still, when I leapt on him he fought for his life. He got hold of the wrist of my hand that held my iron dagger. He fought the blade the whole way down. In the end, the dagger still tore open his throat.

Then I had new set of armor, a horse and a purse. I became Aurelius for bit carrying word of my own crimes.

I was hunted for three weeks by some savage Celts in Germania, before I gave them the slip in Gaul.

I got to northern Spain and realized the difficult truth. There was no place left to go. If I was a normal sort, I might hope to blend into and hide in the population. Use my stolen wealth to set myself up on a farm somewhere remote. Early retirement. Except my crimes were against the Speculatore. They would never stop hunting me. The Speculatore had the resources and the gifts to find me wherever I fled. Further, if they let me escape, they risked a wholesale breakdown in discipline that could not be allowed. There was also a basic problem with my skin.

Wherever I went, people would look on me with suspicion and distrust. I would start already half convicted in their eyes and any act I took would be seen in the worst possible light. Eventually, any I stayed around would be convinced it was only a matter of time before I struck at them and they would decide to strike first.

With no place else to go, I took ship to the province of Britannia. I managed to get off the boat just before the crew decided they had no choice but to hang me, burn my corpse and spread the ashes on the sea.

I tried to stay well cloaked as I made my way through Londinium. On an inkling, I stopped at the hut of an old witch whose sign promised to read fortunes.

I came into the witch's hut and beheld her haggard visage. Without asking, I sat in the chair opposite her. She had a silver bowl of water on the table between us.

"One who comes unasked and sits unwelcome. You come into my home like thieving death. What do you seek?" The Crone asked ever so welcoming.

"I come to seek my fortune as your sign offers. I bring coin to pay for what I take." I replied and shook the coin purse at my belt. I still had some of the coin I had taken back before Antioch. I had ridden most of the way as a messenger, eating and swapping horses at garrisons. I'd also restocked on several occasions when the opportunity rose.

"Then spread my palm with silver if you would know your future." The Crone demanded extending her hand palm up.

I laid down two solid silver coins across her hand which was more than I had to imagine most paid her, particularly with the debased coinage of this part of the Empire.

"You, whose visage is not fair render fair payment, so I will give you what you seek."

She then raised her hands and shrieked. I could feel the light from outside grow dim and the intensity of the space that told me real magic was being cast. I could see ripples on the bowl of water.

Then she screamed again.

"Your life is long. You will live many of the lifetimes of men. But you have been cursed by the True God, so you will live in misery, always banished from the company of civilization. There is no safety for you. No place you may hide from those who hunt you but one. In the Court of Queen Balora can you hide. All in her court are cursed and there will you find refuge such as there is for you." She pronounced judgement on me.

"Where is the Court of this Queen Balora?" I asked with fierce urgency.

"Walk west across this land. Take ship west to the land of the Gaels. Then walk west across there land. When you reach the westernmost point and there is only water before you. Walk boldly into the water and so will you find her court." The Crone answered.

"Is there no other way?" I asked, perhaps with a bit of desperation creeping into my voice.

"That is the only way for you. All others lead to your former allies finding you and rendering slow justice on your carcass." She replied, perhaps just a bit too gleeful.

That was all I was going to get here. So, I stabbed her in the gut and slit her throat. I took the silver bowl which was the only thing of value in the place. I didn't take back the coins but left them on her eyes, so she would have what to pay the ferryman. I left some straw and cloth smoldering, so the fire would not start soon and tied the door of her hut tight, so none would enter for a bit.

As I rode west from the town I saw the hut blossom into flame and heard the screams and cries as people ran, some to trying to contain the fire, others away fearful the fire would take the whole town.

I made my way to the coast. If I stopped by civilization, it would be at midday so that I could pay for or steal what I would take. I would make a point to sleep concealed in the wilderness each night.

When I found the west coast of Brittania, I rode south for two days until I found a fishing village. I went to the master of the largest boat.

"Can this boat make it to the land of the Gaels?" I asked, coifed in my hood and cloak.

The boat master answered arrogantly sitting in the midst of his boat while his workmen sailors and fishermen did his work, "And who would like to know?"

I reached across the distance with my Veneficium and took hold of his heart then replied, "One who would like a quick, honest and polite answer."

"Yes, yess," He gasped out in pain.

"Then make ready to go quickly or your successor after death will take me." I demanded.

We were at sea within the hour. It took a day and night, but then we landed on the Eastern shore of the land of the Gaels. I left their bodies burning in the boat that had been neatly pulled up onto the beach.

I made my way across the green land of the Gaels. I was hunted several times. I would turn the tables on the hunters. Capture them. Torture the locations of their homes from them. Go to their homes, have their women cook me food. Eat it. Take anything they had of value. Murder them. If any of their women met my fancy, rape and then murder them. Then burn everything, including their bodies, in their hut.

Five days found me standing on the stony beach that faced the great Western Ocean. I had traveled north and south and could say with some certainty this was the westernmost tip of this land. I walked forward into the water. It might have seemed brave, but I had no place left to go.

I walked forward, and it was as walking into the ocean anywhere, though perhaps more cold here than the warm waters of the lands of my birth. I walked in to my neck, my nose, then until my head passed under the waves.

I had a fleeting thought that the Crone knew what I was about and had treated false with me.

The next moment, I was standing dry on what seemed a green and white marble floor. I opened my eyes and looked about. It seemed I stood in the hall of a great noble. All around was like a great inverted bowl of clear Cathay glass somehow holding back the ocean. It was a great working of magic, far greater than I believed even the Empire could manage now.

I looked about, the visages of all those around me were like the finest of statues. They were beautiful and fierce, but when they turned, or I turned, and I would catch them from the corner of my eye, I would see they were truly hideous creatures. I began to become dizzy, from long delayed sleep, hunger and great fear of this place.

Suddenly, the court parted and before me was a queen, her body made of some translucent green stone, like the Ivory Jupiter at Olympia. Only this one moved and spoke!

"What has brought you to my court?" She demanded.

"I seek sanctuary and have heard you were a generous queen who would grant it." I replied bowing, with all the courtly graces my Mother's cane had been able to beat into me.

"You ask much. Have you brought any tribute that might sway me to grant such to one so accursed as yourself?" She asked haughtily.

The queen, like her court, was beautiful to look upon, so beautiful it would hurt your eyes. But I could tell in the occasional side glance, she was hideous, more hideous than anything I had ever seen or could imagine.

"Of course, great queen, I have brought you this." I replied, producing the bowl I had taken from the Crone from a fold in my cloak.

I didn't truly think it much, but it was a solid piece of silver, perhaps a bit debased, but still with some good weight of metal in it. It was also a decent piece of work, very round and regular with a bit of a design around rim. It was also the most valuable single object I had.

One of her courtiers took the bowl from my hand and rendered it up to the queen.

"A princely gift you render up to me. Property of mine stolen and, more valuable still, revenge worked on the thief. You are welcome in my demesne pale one. It seems with your visage and aspect you should be well suited here." The queen pronounced to my relief.

I was shown to quarters where I slept. While I slept, my clothes were cleaned and repaired. When I awoke, a princely feast was placed before me.

The next evening, I had to lie with the queen, but I kept her illusory visage before my eyes and my body needed the relaxation that came with lying with a woman.

I was comfortable. I had the run of the place. I would find that time passed more quickly beneath the waves. For each night beneath, a year on land went by.

I asked once, "Why do we not march up onto land and take territory, we seem puissant and strong?"

They laughed at me, "Seem us so? Our Queen, mistress of madness and disease, was driven beneath the waves by the Queen of Summer. Long had our Queen been a vassal of the Queen of Winter, but when she turned on her mistress and sought power in her own name, none were left to protect her when the host of the Summer Queen turned on her. If we stride above the waves, even a few days, the servants of Winter and Summer will hunt us down.

"We bide our time here beneath the waves. The day will come when those on land weaken and there will be an opening for us. We make alliances with others like us who have been driven beneath the waves. Our time will come, we must only be patient."

So, I was informed and so I waited. Comfortable. Always getting new clothes in whatever style humans had selected on land. Eating good foods. Sleeping with the Queen and the ladies of the court. One century blending into the next.

We would bide our time. We would grow in strength, and, one day, we would rule on land and sea. As above, so below.

*** And now a word from our sponsor!***

Please imagine a chorus line of attractive, scantily clad, very fit high steppers in the gender of your choice!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

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.me

/hemaccabe

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While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	21. Chapter 21

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 21: Keep On Going**

I woke up on the gurney again. This was getting to be a bad habit. Tamar was holding my hand. She moved quickly to put a small trash can under my mouth and I was immediately sick. Every last bit of anything I had in my gut came out. I was very sore. I looked at my skin, there were no holes. I could remember those creatures boring into me.

I looked at myself and realized that my previous confidence had been false. Clearly White Man had put fear in me when we first met all those years ago in Las Vegas. I thought I was recovering, regaining my confidence. Obviously, I had not. I thought I could face him on some sort of even terms, he had smacked me down effortlessly. I thought he couldn't scare me anymore, I was more afraid now than ever.

When I could speak I said, "Travis, where is he?"

"Miranda took him to their room. Last I heard, he was still asleep." Tamar replied calmly.

Somehow, in her tone, I sensed she had begun to doubt me and the decision to be with me.

"I'm going to my shop." I pronounced.

"Perhaps some more sleep?" Tamar began.

Sleep was the last thing I needed right now. It was bad enough I had to dream White Man's life, see the awful things he's done. But the dreams made me feel what he felt when he did those disgusting things. Did I really need to know what it was like to sleep with those hags? I could feel some karmic justice in there somewhere.

I didn't answer Tamar, I just picked myself up and went to the shop.

I suppose I should be more clear, I have more than one shop on premises. I went to my forge. My firearms and auto shops are fun. I have a machine shop too for fabbing parts. But the forge is where I go to think. To heal.

I needed some healing.

I got to the shop and put the forge oven on. I was frustrated to a level I had never felt before.

Novi walked in then, dressed in a simple navy outfit, fairly skintight, but very modest by her standards. She had my gear in her arms, which she brought to a table and dumped.

"I thought you'd want this." She said, then nodded respectfully and left.

It was all the gear I'd worn to on the failed rescue. Which was, essentially, all my best stuff. It was all in terrible shape. There were little holes in all of it, like the bugs had been real and had really been boring in. Except, there were no corresponding holes in my skin. Everything was ruined. All my armor, the guns, the helmet, they were all punctured by little holes, cracked and broken. There might have been a few rounds of ammo that weren't ruined.

I did find my axe, it was scarred, but strangely intact. I picked it up. I could feel it channeling power the way it had before. It was some comfort.

I searched my coat. It was swiss cheesed with little bug holes. All of the two hundred plus armor pieces inside were cracked. I did find the power source for the coat, final gift of my mother, I took the ruby and set it aside.

Then I looked at all my gear. I thought of the thousands of hours of work it represented. The endless hours it would take to remake. The fact that I would need it soon and not have it.

Then I turned and looked to the forge, at the chest piece I'd been working on. It was no-where near ready and much more likely to fail forging than work. The sword was a bent mess.

Then I went to the lump of metal. It was still there. Still clearly holding some great power and still just as determined to withhold it.

The forge was at full heat. I was so angry, I threw the metal in.

Strangely, it was very satisfying, for like, ten seconds.

Then I looked at the now yellow glowing hot piece of metal and realized I was probably destroying something completely precious and irreplaceable in a fit of pique.

I knew I had no time, so I did something completely stupid. I reached in to grab it out with my hand. Objectively, I knew that was completely stupid. I would just roast my arm and burn my hand to ash. I supposed I deserved it. If I was to live for just a short time more anyway, it wouldn't matter much if I did it without a hand, but I hoped some future generation's smith, one much smarter than me, would figure this thing out.

What I expected to happen, happened. My arm burned as I reached in. My hand hurt with the most intense pain. It felt exactly like what you would expect driving a white-hot metal spike straight through your hand would, only times a million. Then I was out of the oven. I used a shop cloth to beat the flames off my arm. My hand was not letting go of the metal lump. My hand was literally glowing from the lump inside.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."

As I was wondering how my hand, if it was baked to ash, was still holding the piece of metal and could still transmit pain, I decided I must have been driven mad.

"No, maybe a little meshuge, but not really crazy." The voice seemed to reply. It was a warm, mature male voice. He sounded a lot like Theodore Bikel and the older men at the Temple. He sounded, strangely, like what I had always imagined a grandfather might.

Most of the kids I grew up around had the benefit of extended families. I'm sure, since they told me, they envied me being an only child, enjoying the relentless attention and toy buying budget of some of the better-heeled people in the region. Still, I had always envied them in return, the way they had family who would immediately come to their aid if there was a fight. How they had grandparents who would dote on them, take them fishing and bake them cookies.

Yes, I did have two loving parents to myself, but Dad worked relentless long hours and was rarely around. My Mom may have set a great example and taught me a lot being a pioneering career/entrepreneur woman, but that meant she pulled long hours too. I spent a lot of afternoons home alone as a latch key kid.

As all that went through my mind, I managed to think back, "Who are you?"

"Ahh, a good question. My name is Oholiab ben Mordechai, Eesh Yimini."

I knew "Eesh Yimini" was a phrase from the Book of Ester. It was applied to Mordechai as a title. Generally, it was translated as meaning, "Of the Tribe of Benyamin."

"That is correct." The voice replied which was very confusing, as I hadn't been forming a reply, just thinking.

"Oh, thought you were replying. To finish answering your question, I was an assistant and student to Rabbi Yehuda Loew ben Betzalel. He spent his life trying to be a teacher and community leader. He also had to fight relentlessly against necromancers, mostly from the Catholic Church.

"Why are you talking to me?" I finally managed to ask by forming cogent thoughts.

"When I died, fighting a group of undead abominations unleashed on a group of children, I died young and without heir. I was the last of my line. There was a time when the Tribe of Benjamin was the key producer of arms for the Kingdom of David. Did you ever wonder why the Yemini were so cheeky and willing to risk the ire of all the other tribes? They had grown stupid and arrogant from their wealth and drunk from their sense of self-importance from the arms trade. They felt indispensable. What Kingdom would risk the source of their best arms? Did you ever wonder why two tribes, Judah and Benjamin, were able to stand up to ten? Because they had Judah's size and Benjamin's weapons. Once there were thousands of great Yemini smiths, producing a vast array of the finest armor and weapons. The Tribe of Benjamin produced the weapons of the Kings and his Nosei Kaelee. By my time, I was the last that was left and, when I died, I took our secrets to my grave." The voice replied. I understood only some of what he said.

"I still don't understand why you're talking to me?" I replied.

"The piece of metal you hold in your hand is a test. You were supposed to ask your Rabbi what he thought. Asking would have shown piety and humbleness. So, of course you didn't. When one who was worthy passed the test, the reward was that I was to teach him our traditions. Instead, you decided to preserve something for others at the expense of your own hand. It was decided that was sufficient to consider you to have passed. So here I am." Oholiab explained.

"I already know quite a bit. The Svartalves have taught me a lot. Maybe I don't need you?" I asked, feeling a bit defensive.

"I see the hammer over there, you made that?" The voice asked.

I thought the voice was going to complement me, it was one of my best pieces of work, so I replied, "Yes?"

"Not exactly their best stuff. I can see from work around the shop. You were doing the best you could on your own, not great. Then the Svartalves taught you a few tricks, but not their best stuff, just enough to make you useful. Now you're struggling." The voice explained like it knew the story of my life, and worse, was correct.

"Yeah, maybe, but it takes time to master a craft. I's still practicing, learning." I defended myself and, I suppose, indirectly the Svartalves.

"Going the way you're going, it'll take a long time and you don't have a long time. Get that sword and breastplate in the forge. We have work to do." Oholiab said.

I did as he said. Then while the metal warmed, I arranged my tools as he suggested.

The first thing to come out was the sword. I could feel Oholiab working through my hands. I was learning in the best possible way, by feeling my own hands do it.

Oholiab could feel things in the metal. When the metal was stressed to just before it would crack. How to strike to add flexibility and how to strike to give hardness. Mostly, how to infuse power into the blade in a whole new way. What the Svartalves had taught me was more than an order of magnitude better than my original inept attempts. It had been a modestly competent technique. This was much more than an order of magnitude again.

While we worked I asked, "What were the Nosei Kaelee?"

In my thoughts Oholiab replied, "When the Lord decided that David should be king, he appointed around him a champion, one might say a Prince, from each Tribe. Each Prince was an example of the best of what we were. Honorable, holy, decent and strongly gifted with the blessing bestowed by Israel."

"Israel the state?" I asked confused.

That got a laugh from Oholiab, "No, Israel the Patriarch."

"What do you mean?" I asked still confused.

"It's in the Five Books. In Bereshis." Oholiab answered puzzled.

"Are you referring to when Jacob blesses his sons? That's supposed to be metaphorical and allegorical. Poetic imagery?" I asked.

"No, it's meant to be literal and a clear description. Your friend Jake is clearly a champion of Benyamin. I can't say if he's up to the standard of a Nosei Kaelee though." Oholiab replied.

"But how about that, we were able to re-establish the State. Our Heavenly Father must be relenting, perhaps this exile is almost at an end? I wonder what Israel is like. I've never been." Oholiab said drifting to another subject.

I didn't understand most of what Oholiab said, but chose to reply, "I have. It's beautiful. I think you'd like it. A lot of crying for what's been lost, but also a lot of smiling for what's been saved."

"I would really like to go someday. I never had a chance to actually return to the Land." Oholiab said wistfully.

"Tell you what, if we survive, I'll try and take you." I replied.

"Then you'll have to survive. Put the sword back in the forge and pull the breastplate." Oholiab replied.

We didn't do a lot of talking after that. The kind of smith work Oholiab did required great concentration. It was like playing chess against the metal. Every hammer blow was based on anticipation. We didn't just slam down because we saw a flaw or were forming a shape. Rather this blow anticipated how the metal would respond and set us up two, five, ten a hundred hits later to be in the position we wanted. I had to hold all of it in my head constantly while also making strategy in other areas.

Then just before the breastplate had too much, we put it back in the forge. This was normally when I would take a moment. Instead, we whipped out the sword and began to work on that. Again, each strike was a master class in controlling the metal, knowing and understanding what the metal was telling you and responding to make the metal bend to our will.

Back and forth the blade and the chest piece went in and out.

At one point, as we looked down on the blade being formed under our blows, Oholiab asked, "The way you're going, this will be the sword of a Nosei Kaelee, Benyamin in particular. We will be bringing something back into the world that hasn't existed since this lump of metal was a sword. If he isn't worthy, he won't be able to wield it. We could still make him quite a weapon, just not this, and we could be sure he would be able to wield it?"

It was a fair question. Jake was good kid, but did he have the right stuff to be some sort of spiritual holy knight? If I went low, hedged my bets, we would definitely have something worthwhile for him to use that would substantially improve our odds. If I went all the way, we could end up with a sword Jake couldn't touch and we would have wasted our time.

On my own, the hammer came down making my answer, it would be the sword of a Nosei Kaelee.

Twenty-four hours later I had a sword and a chest plate. Either of these items should have taken much longer by itself. Yes, I had worked without break, but still, that was crazy fast. I was used to working non-stop and becoming a bit OCD. Also, I didn't really want to sleep again. If I never saw something from the perspective of White Man again, it would be a day too soon.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please don't miss that this is the third exciting book in this series. The original Warlock of Omaha and Warlock of Omaha Squared are also on this site!

If you enjoy Star Wars and my writing, you may also enjoy a series of three Star Wars novels I have written, all called Legend of the Harp!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	22. Chapter 22

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 22: Don't Slow Down**

I came out of the forge with a breastplate in one hand and a sword in the other. I had given the breastplate modest finishing. The sword got more, though still modest. It did have a guard and a pommel, admittedly plain and a decent leather and wood grip.

Everyone was in the kitchen, not knowing what to do with themselves.

"Jake, Yakov, come here." I said.

Jake looked up where he had been sitting, reading something on that iPad of his. He set it down and came over.

"I made this for you." I said, holding up the sword, "I don't know if you will be able to wield it. Taking this sword will mean taking up great responsibility. Only accept it if you are ready to do so."

Jake came over and said, "I'm not sure what you're asking me. However, I accept the responsibility and the sword. When I take the sword, I hope you will explain."

With that, I set my breastplate on the counter. I knelt and turned the sword around, so I held the naked blade and offered the handle to Jake.

Jake came forward solemnly and took the handle.

For a split second I was afraid.

Then for a moment, Jake's body was limned with fire. I could swear, for just a second, I could see a six-winged angel on either side of Jake, holding up his arms. Then it was all gone, and Jake was just there holding the sword in a way that reminded me of the way he had held many baseball bats.

Jake was very careful with the blade, but as he moved it around behind himself, it passed through a kitchen chair. Without any apparent friction, it sliced the top off the chair.

"Careful with that sword partner, it's sharp." Travis volunteered.

"I think I'll take it outside and get some feel for it." Jake said, a bit abashed about the chair, then headed for the yard.

Before he could go, Oholiab said, "Tell him he must now sit in a chair."

"Umm, before you go, Jake, please sit in one of these chairs." I said gesturing to the chairs around the kitchen table, one of which was now partially backless.

"Okay?" Jake replied puzzled, but sat, in a still intact chair.

"Get some olive oil." Oholiab said, and I went to the cabinet above the stove and got down the bottle of extra virgin olive oil we always kept there.

"Now take the oil to Jake, stand behind him and pour some on his head." Oholiab continued.

"How much?" I asked with everyone looking at me wondering who I was talking to.

"It doesn't have to be the whole bottle. A couple tablespoons is enough. We're not getting ready to fry him."

I got behind Jake and said, "Just sit still, this will feel a little strange."

Oholiab continued, "Now pour the oil and say..."

Then I said, "Ani moshiach eetcha Nosei Kaelee."

Jake, probably a little surprised by this whole series of events, took it well, and then said, "Eventually, you're going to need to explain what just happened you know."

"I will, soon." I replied, feeling a little better than I had for a long time, "but for now, go outside so you don't cut up any more of my furniture and practice. You'll need to be able to handle that sword very well, very soon."

Brenda was there. She brought me my backup helmet and old pistol. She had taken the optics from her guns and attached them to this helmet and pistol. So, I was at least somewhat armed.

I gave her a hug and kiss, then she went and sat down.

Then Tamar came forward. She handed me my coat. She had torn out all the broken bits of armor and sewed up all the holes. The coat still looked a bit ragged, but not falling apart. It would even still have some protective effect. After all, the leather of the coat was made of my Type B.

I put on the coat gratefully, then gave her a hug and a kiss.

I decided to speak. Everyone was there, Jake was still heading out. "I'm not sure what my next step is. I don't know if we can rescue that girl or stop White Man. Even if we do, really, what chance do we all have long term. Still, if we are all going to die, I'd like that girl not to do it in White Man's clutches. Also, White Man has a bill that goes back two millennia and it is very heavy. I'd love to put paid on that before I go, if just to stop him from harming the next people. I've seen into his life a bit. I think I have something that will let me beat him."

Tamar came back to me and gave me a left over one Shekel coin from our trip to Israel and said, "Take this. Put it in charity when you have the chance."

Her request didn't make much sense, but I put the coin in my pocket.

I walked out of the kitchen down my "This Way Lies Madness" hall to the garage by myself at that point, mostly because I had no idea where to go or what to do.

"I have no idea how to find the girl again." I thought clearly.

"How'd you find her the last time?" Oholiab said.

"With a locator spell." I replied.

"Do you still have that spell going?"

That made it a little too simple, stupid, obvious.

"Sorry." Oholiab said not too apologetically.

I went and found my needle. It was no longer working. I thought about spending all afternoon trying to get it to work again and despaired. My fingers and hands had been burned so much lately they were getting a bit gun-shy.

"Do you really think it was the chip that let you track the girl down?" Oholiab said.

Which made several things snap into place. It had never been the chip or data. It had been that drop of blood. If a drop of blood would work for a locator spell, that meant I was related to this girl. Almost certainly, she was my daughter. She was a teenager now. That meant I had met and been with her mother during my Systems Admin phase, running around to various casinos and other events. I hadn't been the most successful lothario, but I hadn't been the worst. There had been plenty of one-night stands, they all tended to blend one to another. Many I hadn't even bothered to exchange contact information with. On many occasions it had been the woman who left without wanting to know me more. I had no idea who this girl's mother was or where she might be found.

I pricked one of my pinkies and another drop of blood later, the needle was pointing again. This time, it didn't point down, like I expected. It pointed firmly south and west.

I took some time then. Gathered my things. Tried to prepare myself. Also, I had one little thing more I needed to prepare.

We piled into my Infiniti Q50. The Infiniti was a decent car, but it was completely vanilla. It had no armor or bullet proof windows. It came from the manufacturer with a strong motor, but no thousand horsepower super engine.

Travis drove. Jake rode shotgun and I sat in the back. Unlike the last time we had tried this, rather than try any fancy triangulation, we just followed the needle down. We proceeded south down 72nd street. As the needle started showing more west than south, we got on I-80 west. Eventually, it started showing more south, and we got off the highway again. One doesn't have to get too far west of Omaha to find oneself deep in farmland countryside and we were. That meant White Man probably had the girl in the middle of nowhere and was getting ready for a major throw down in a place where things like police would not interfere.

Suddenly, despite being in the middle of nowhere, we ran into a line of traffic. That made this all clear again.

"Take us to Vala's Pumpkin Patch." I said.

Travis nodded, and I kept up the spell, but as we worked our way off the main road onto the feeder road, the needle kept pointing the way we were going.

I've said before. You don't come to Omaha for amazing cultural attractions. We have our high points. The College Baseball World Series is a big deal for many people and a week-long party for Omaha. We have a number of high-end financial firms headquartered in Omaha. Warren Buffet, the second most wealthy man alive, who made his money in financial speculation, has his company Berkshire Hathaway in Omaha. Many of Warren's early investors were fellow Omaha natives. He made a lot of them very wealthy. Because of that, Omaha does punch above it's weight in many areas. Our art museum is much better stocked than a provincial art museum should be. We get more and better arts performances than we should for our size. Our Omaha Zoo routinely jousts with the San Diego Zoo for the best zoo on the planet.

However, before the Lodge, we really didn't have anyplace that good to eat. As for amusement parks, Omaha is similarly bereft. There's a place called the funplex which is a very modest place with remarkably high prices and not much else. I'm not really into amusement parks, so I don't really care and it's normally not a problem. Aside from Fun Plex, Omaha has Vala's Pumpkin Patch.

As one can tell from the name, it's a seasonal thing that only opens in the fall. It's remarkably popular with many Omahans. It's charm is lost on me. I suspect it reflects an unfortunate lack of alternative options and that lack of basic taste that makes so many of my fellow Omahans desire to eat at lousy chain restaurants.

I had been to Vala's a handful of times over the years and tried, as often as possible, to avoid it. A major attraction of Vala's is it's bakery, the baked goods are terrible, below supermarket quality. The other food served is uniformly expensive and bad. The entire place smells bad, tends to be muddy and dirty, and there's not much there I find interesting.

We finally got to the end of drive and a police officer waived us to a remote parking area. It was not unusual for Vala's and many other businesses to use off-duty police officers, earning over time pay provided by the client, in this case Vala's, for security/crowd control/parking.

We followed the directions, but the needle showed the girl was inside the park, not in a parking lot. I gestured to Travis, who replied, "Don't worry."

Travis made a fast move, drove up the exit lane and got us over to the parking near the entrance. We took a spot that had been held by someone who had been there for the day and was now leaving. We were three spots from the front gate.

It was evening now. The sun was just disappearing behind the horizon.

As we exited the Infiniti, Travis pointed out, "It's going to be dark soon. Were going to be in a place which has, at best, uneven lighting. Light sources will be critical. Be careful you know what you're shooting," and he looked at Jake, "or cutting. These people are just the kind of scum sucking bottom feeders who would probably love to trick us into hurting some innocent, like a little girl. They know that will mess with our heads."

Jake and I nodded.

I had my old pistol in a coat pocket. I had Baby hanging under my coat. I had a state-of-the-art sling, but it was a very old-fashioned bad guy feeling thing to do. How many movies had I seen some grungy character keep a shotgun hanging on a strap under his long coat. I had been a gentleman shooter, with the best of everything. I had been reduced to a scruffy character. I had extra magazines about my person. Luckily, it was a very modestly nippy night, so the coat made sense. I knew enough about Omaha weather to know it would be getting colder later.

I had also used some spare shoes and pants. My underpants had a supporter and I had a backup cup. I had another of my stretch shooter shirts on and the new steel breastplate ensconced in a glossy blue paisley vest with a dragon pattern. I had the now raggedy long dark green coat on and my helmet which had a much stronger hat illusion. Oholiab's help had also made it the electronics more magic resistant. No more protection than normal though.

My hatchet had normally ridden in a special pouch under my left forearm where it was secure, well-hidden, and ready fast. That pouch had been shredded and Tamar's short-term repairs had not rebuilt it. Now the axe was just shoved up my left coat sleeve.

Jake was wearing the armor I had made for him. He had on his modern leather biker jacket, with extra spine protection. He had on his chaps and heavy biker boots. He was too reputable looking to be a Son's of Anarchy biker, more like a city boy who had just jumped off a street racer motorcycle. I would have preferred a fifties style biker jacket with lots of chrome and tassels. Jake liked a more modern, functional look. He was the one who had to wear it, so I made his jacket his way. He had the sword in a gym bag.

It wasn't unusual for people to bring in picnics, so a bag was not out of the ordinary.

Travis had his Indiana Jones-style felt hat on. His nice leather coat had been shredded like mine, but apparently Miranda had mended it like Tamar had done for my coat. His Stadium-style coat ended at the hips. Beneath were a pair of store-bought black fatigue pants not too different from mine and a pair of hiking boots I recognized as one's he favored for hunting. His P-90 and all it's complicated, some illegal, modifications was now trash as was his best Five-seveN pistol. He had his back-up Five-seveN pistol under that coat with some spare loaded mags. He also had his knife that I had made for him, riding his right hip.

"Considering what happened to all our other gear, why weren't we holed though and why did my axe and Travis' knife survive?" I annunciated clearly, but internally, in a way I was already more comfortable with.

Oholiab replied, "As for you and Travis, Jake invoked what you would call 'the threshold' of the home. Things from Marchenland are made more of thought and imagination than things of the real world. When the threshold was invoked, it made them more into a bad dream than anything real, so you're bodies didn't have permanent affects."

"So why did it affect the rest of our gear?" I asked, surprised by his answer.

"When you took your things into Marchenland, they became somewhat unreal like Marchenland things, so they were more easily affected. The threshold pushed the bugs away but didn't stop the damage they had done." Oholiab continued to explain.

"Except for the axe and knife?"

"Well, Marchenland things often have problems with steel. Steel's inherent reality is abhorrent to make believe, makes it fade. Also, you had worked on those items yourself, on the forge. That also gives them a higher-sort of reality."

I had been coming to realize that the forge wasn't just a place where I could fashion items as it was more convenient than other options. I could put more of myself and my magic into things with the forge. Further, that an item imbued with magic on the forge wouldn't be just, say, a +2 axe, but was able to cut better because it was, in a way, more real. Oholiab was saying the knife and axe had been too real for the insects to damage.

"Exactly, I think you're finally starting to get it." Oholiab replied.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please don't miss that this is the third exciting book in this series. The original Warlock of Omaha and Warlock of Omaha Squared are also on this site!

If you enjoy Star Wars and my writing, you may also enjoy a series of three Star Wars novels I have written, all called Legend of the Harp!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	23. Chapter 23

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 23: If You're Scared Don't Show It**

We walked the short distance to the entrance. My C-note bought us admittance. I let the girl keep the coin, I didn't need to jingle later at the wrong moment but shoved less than thirty bucks of bills back in my pocket.

As we entered, we passed a set of goat pens. The goal of the pens was to get visitors to pay for goat feed. For me, they just smelled like manure. I walked over to a quiet spot under a tree and, with my compatriots forming a circle of privacy, dropped the needle to see we still needed to continue west and a little north.

We humped across the acres of low-rent country corny attractions as far as we could go as it got darker.

Eventually, we faced a fence and a forest.

"Well, where is she?" Travis asked.

"I was just about to ask you that." I replied.

"I have nothing on her, which is weird, because I have now met her and have a sense of her. I should be able to find her, even if it's just her corpse in a shallow grave." Travis answered.

Then I had a thought. I led us back and fifteen more dollars got us onto the last lame train ride of the evening.

We sat in an almost empty car. With the sun down, the temperature was dropping.

"Get ready." I said.

I watched the needle and it started pointing more and more up. As we reached the westernmost portion of the loop the train followed, it passed through a simulated old timey phony village, I jumped off.

Jake and Travis followed, and no one noticed in the dark and cold.

We secreted ourselves in one of the cheaply made pretend buildings. I believe it was supposed to be a barber shop. The needle was pointing straight up.

I scanned the sky. There was nothing there.

"Do you have any idea why it's doing that?" I asked inside.

"Ah," Oholiab answered, "this one you call 'White Man' is playing with Marchenland. He has time shifted himself and the girl."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They are here, but not in sync with you. As you get closer to a certain time, they will sync up closer and closer until you will all be together in the same place. He probably thinks some time of day gives him an advantage. He must be wasting a lot of power to do this though." Oholiab explained.

Perhaps there was some eldritch reason White Man was waiting, a special hour of the day when he was more powerful? It could also be very simple. The longer we waited, here in the cold, under terrible stress, waiting for a showdown we had no reasonable expectation of surviving, no food and no sleep, the more fatigued we became. The more fatigued, the greater his advantage.

"Everyone have a seat. Find a comfortable place and rest. Did anyone bring anything to eat or drink?"

It turned out, Travis had a water bottle he shared, and Jake had some chewy, home-made, bison jerky in his bag. I did something to make the small area around us warmer. We sat in the dirty, clapboard building, but it felt almost pleasant for a moment.

I was ready for a showdown. What I had realized from the dreams was that White Man was powerful and did have a lot of experience. However, he had spent most of his two thousand odd years of life having sex with various abominations in the court of that Fomorian Queen. Yes, he had an edge, but he shouldn't be some sort of unstoppable deity and I had allies with me, powerful allies.

Also, I had a secret weapon.

I knew White Man's powers were mostly about causing intense fear in his victims. I had taken a moment, before we headed out, to mix up three double doses of my Mom's old love potion. It had worked for Mrs. O'Malley? I passed them out now and we toasted.

Then Travis said, "To Victory!"

Jake said, "To Freedom!"

I said, "To Life."

It tasted funny, but good and I could tell by the mixed expressions on the faces before me, they felt the same. I wasn't sure if it had worked. Perhaps I had made a mistake mixing them? My resolve still felt the same. All I had at that moment was hope. I was wondering if either of my friends felt something.

Before I could ask anything, something big skittered over the thin roof above us.

We didn't need an engraved invitation. Everyone's weapons were out. Jake had pulled the sword from the bag. Travis had his pistol and high-power flashlight in his hands. As for me, my goggles went down, and my pistol and axe were in my hands.

It was quite a decision for me. By the tenets of pretty much every self-defense expert I've ever known, I should have had the rifle out. However, I had chosen my pistol, so I could have my axe out. That said, at some level, I now considered the axe, and my magical abilities more valuable, at least with the pistol added.

I saw Jake suddenly hit the deck and realized he might be getting some advance warning. I hit the deck and pulled Travis down with me.

No sooner than chests had hit the floor, bullets flew through the room in pretty much every direction. That lasted, maybe ten seconds, then it stopped.

Then there was high pitched keening.

A big ant face showed itself at a window, I put two snap rounds through it.

Then giant ants were coming in from every opening and tearing new openings in the flimsy walls.

Jake had no trouble. Whatever the Myrmidons could do, they couldn't move fast enough to really bother him. He would close, lop off whatever part was near him and the rest would start to melt horribly. I started to realize the high-pitched keening was the noise these things made when they were hurt.

I went through a mag of my pistol and realized it was not an ideal weapon for these creatures.

My high-performance 10mm rounds could tear huge holes in a human target, but these Myrmidons had a lot of empty space inside and not a lot of critical organs I could find. Part of what makes a hollow point round tear a big hole in it's target, is interaction with the internal materials of a body. Without as much material, not such big holes.

It was worse for Travis. His Five-seveN was based on the idea that very small holes could make someone just as dead. That was a pretty good theory, once again for people, really bad for Myrmidons.

I realized these things would have been absolute terrors on an ancient battlefield. They could move on four legs to cross ground fast and then rear up to fight on two giving them four weapon hands. Each claw was a built-in weapon. Their chitinous skin was natural armor and they would be very resilient to repeated stab wounds and arrows. Even slashing blows would take repeated hits to stop them.

I then called wind with my axe. I had been learning how to be a real wizard for a while now with Novi. Most wizards had specialties with in one of the Aristotelean elements, essentially hot/fire, cold/ice, earth, water, air and though it didn't really fit, body. I noticed that most seemed to pick fire and ice. I had always preferred air, even before Novi. There had been a time in my adolescence that I had not been able to make a small bolt of fire go where I wanted or do anything. Now, I could use air to suit my purposes. I formed and pulled a column of air which I then used to push all the Myrmidons in front of Travis and myself back.

With my first push of air, the Myrmidons just dug in and didn't budge. The Myrmidons had ant-like strength and were trying to hold on. I congealed the air, pushing with more pneumatic pressure. The ants finally broke and got blown back into the woods around us because there just wasn't anything there that was very solid to hold onto. The thin, cheap clapboard of the building that was left just snapped away in their claws. The ground was made of loose dirt. I prevailed and was able to push the things back giving us, perhaps, a second.

I used that second to pull out Baby.

Okay, magic was good, but in this situation, Baby was better.

I had also realized where the Myrmidons' weak points were.

"Aim for the joints between body segments! Also, the bottom of the body segments!"

Then I laid into them with Baby. The .50 Beo started making holes that were half an inch wide on entry. As I hit the relatively solid joints between head, middle and thorax, it would break the things apart and they would bleed out. Harvesting years of knowledge from my childhood ant farms, which NEVER got loose, I realized the bottoms of their body segments would be much more full of fluid and guts. That meant much more purchase for the hollow points and devastating wounds from the .50 Beo at short range.

Travis got between me and Jake. He saved his shots, hitting an eye or neck from time to time on Myrmidons that were getting close.

Jake continued to lop off pieces of anything that got close.

By the bottom of my second magazine, the press of their attack had petered out. There were dead ant parts everywhere, those that weren't melting.

There wasn't much building left.

Travis and I were snapping in new mags. Jake was cleaning his sword with a rag.

Suddenly, there, before us, was White Man with the girl. She was still frozen in the same position he had taken her in, her face a rictus of fear which I suspected was sincere. Her eyes were still moving wildly in every direction. White Man stood behind her, holding an old, but I was quite sure still very functional and wickedly sharp knife to her throat. I knew how fast he could pull that knife and spread her life blood on the floor.

Baby came up and I started aiming for his head. I know Travis was pointing his pistol too. Jake had the sword up before himself, held firmly in both hands.

Then, in the second of his appearance, before all hell could break loose, White Man spoke, "The way you all focus on guns, it's so crude and pathetic, but I suppose they can be useful."

Then before anyone could do anything, with the hand not holding the knife, he pulled a pistol from behind the girl's back and shot Travis.

Travis folded in half and went straight down, as far as I knew he was dead.

I wanted to pull the trigger but before I could White Man looked right at me and said, "You are very foolish to think you could master your fear."

With that, he sent a column of those same bugs, the same super hard hornet-like creatures, only this time bigger and more of them. The column's diameter was taller than me and perfectly round. I barely had time to drop Baby and pull my axe.

It was all I could do to make a barrier of wind that pushed the bugs away. I was fighting for all I was worth. On the other side of Travis, I could see Jake had pulled up his sword but he wasn't advancing! After a moment, I could tell that White Man was projecting an illusion at Jake that the girl he was holding wasn't the girl, but rather was somehow Kelly. Jake wouldn't advance at the cost of Kelly's life.

I was holding back the bugs but couldn't shoot back. Even if I could pull my pistol, it was empty, I'd never had a chance to reload. I couldn't bring my rifle up and shoot with one hand. It was also all I could do not to let those bugs eat me alive again. Still, I started feeling spots where bugs had found their way around and were burrowing into me. Second by second, his column of wasps was pushing back my column of air. It was a matter of time. When I was dead, I didn't have a lot of hope for Jake.

White Man, of course, had to comment, "You thought a dose of a Hedge Witch's liquid courage would be enough to for the likes of you to defeat me? I will have all your carcasses in mud before the night is through!"

Then he laughed.

I was giving it all I had, but my shield was failing bit by bit and I was giving up hope. Just as I was about to collapse, a column of flame, just as wide as the column of bugs came from my left. It blasted into the column of bugs and dispersed them for a second. It was Sam the Warden!

White Man turned the column on Sam, as Sam tried to bring his column of flames onto White Man. White Man won and his column of hornets knocked Sam over onto his back. I figured Sam's long-term prospects weren't good. However, Sam had given me a second. I used that second to grab Travis' pistol from the ground with my magic and it jumped into my hand.

As I whipped Travis' Five-seveN toward White Man, White Man pulled the column of bugs back towards me. As my left arm started feeling the bugs hitting it, I shot White Man in the eye.

White Man went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He never even got the chance to cut the girl's throat.

As soon as White Man died, all the bugs just disappeared. Like they had never been.

*** And now a word from our sponsor! ***

Please don't miss that this is the third exciting book in this series. The original Warlock of Omaha and Warlock of Omaha Squared are also on this site!

If you enjoy Star Wars and my writing, you may also enjoy a series of three Star Wars novels I have written, all called Legend of the Harp!

This writer, like the story teller in the market of old, now has a hat out hoping for a small gratuity. There is no obligation and I'm grateful you took a moment to read. However, if my writing has found favor in your eyes, please take a moment to go to:

Pay

Pal

.me

/hemaccabe

and throw in a little something, a dime, a quarter, a dollar, etc.

While I love to write, I do have a spouse and a child and a job and many other claims on my time that don't understand why I would spend so many hours banging on a keyboard. A small tangible return would help smooth the way to allow me to provide many more stories.

Please help. Thank-you.


	24. Chapter 24

(Authors Note: Jim Butcher has created a great deal of mythology for the Catholic Church in the Dresden Files. From Father Forthill's quiet acts of kindness, to much larger ideas, like the Knights of the Cross and the Fellowship of St Giles. In Skin Game, JB seems to be getting ready to double down even harder.

I think reasonable people will be able to tell where reality leaves off and JB's fancy begins.

I am doing much the same thing here for Judaism. I'm creating and weaving a mythology. Some items are based on accepted faith, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai was able to hide in a cave from the Romans for twelve years due to miraculous Divine intervention. Rabbi Yehuda Lowe ben Bet'zalel has a whole mythology of his own. However, the idea of a Holy Knight, i.e. Nosei Kaelee, among others are things I have made up myself.)

 **Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 24: You Might Get Out**

The girl collapsed too.

Whatever had been animating her and holding her rigid was gone. She was completely out.

By all reasonable standards, it would be safe to assume White Man was dead. I knew we didn't have a lot of time. Travis was, at best, seriously wounded. Still, I knew this would be important later. I looked at Jake and said, "Film this on your cell phone."

Jake pulled out his cell phone and began to record.

I emptied my whole third mag of Baby, high performance, magically enhanced, .50 caliber Beowulf into White Man's corpse at point blank range.

I then took the phone and Jake chopped up any still connected pieces with the sword.

Then I handed the phone back. There was a lot of dry wood. It took very little to make a pile on White Man and set it on fire. I suppose I should have been more careful, because soon the whole little village was going up in flames with him.

I asked Oholiab, "Do you think he's dead?"

"Oh, he's pretty dead." Oholiab answered.

"Think there's any way he could come back?"

"No, he's getting justice up here right now. He ain't ever going back." Oholiab said with confidence.

I looked at Jake. "Can you manage Travis?"

Jake nodded, put his sword back in the bag and over his shoulder. Then he lifted Travis, cradling him in his arms.

"Meet you back at the car." I said and Jake nodded again.

I had never flown with my air magic before, I was too afraid. Lots of things can go wrong. All the people who had died in the early days of flight came to mind. I was already exhausted in so many ways. Sam didn't have long. I picked the girl up over my shoulder.

I called the wind one more time. It lifted us up and I felt strangely like I was in the palm of a mighty hand. We were carried up and over Vala's, and I was vaguely grateful that I wouldn't have to hike it's endless, smelly, muddy length again. Then we were gently set down right next to the Infiniti. I opened the tailgate and lifted Sam in. It wasn't as comfortable as a minivan, but it would have to do. I also got the girl in.

A minute later, Jake showed up. We got Travis into the back seat as gently as we could, lying down across the bench, his feet propped up on the girl. I used some first aid supplies to give him a pressure bandage on his gut.

Travis was mostly out of it but could put one of his hands on the bandage. I took his pistol, mags and knife and dropped them on the floor. Baby went with Travis' things, as did most of my gear. I kept my pistol after reloading and put it in my pocket. It wouldn't be much if I got into trouble, but it was better than nothing.

The first stop was Lakeview Hospital. I carried Travis inside, in my arms.

I had sent Jake, Sam and the girl back to the house with orders for Sam to be treated in our clinic. I might have some pull with the police, but not enough to keep Sam out of jail.

Lakeview is a quiet place on Omaha's westside. Mostly they see the results of innocent domestic trouble and car accidents. I'm sure they got quite a thrill from a GSW. As they whisked Travis away, I sat down, bone tired and filled out his forms.

Then several policemen arrived, they were led by a Detective I didn't know.

"Hi, I'm Detective Borglund. I understand you brought in Travis Horn?"

I nodded.

"You have any idea how he ended up with a gun shot wound in the gut?"

I shook my head, thinking maybe my gun should have stayed in the car too.

"You smell like woodsmoke, cordite and have a number of wounds on your person as well. Did you know there was a big fire tonight at Vala's Pumpkin Patch, after a number of people reported hearing gunshots?" The detective continued.

I'm sure I looked quite disreputable. My coat had already looked like a raggedy patchwork. Now it had a variety of new holes and tears. It had also acquired a wide variety of new stains, many clearly from blood, mostly mine.

I shook my head.

"Have you been to Vala's tonight?" He asked pointedly.

I tilted my head, neither indicating yes or no.

"Are you going to answer my questions?" The detective asked.

I replied, "If you call Detective Bishop, I'll talk to him."

That confused him, but he went away and made a cell phone call.

A while later, a slightly disheveled Detective Bishop showed up.

"Good evening Dr Fox."

"Good evening Detective."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Not really."

"Then why did you call me here?"

"This will end up being another great mystery. You can tell your associates to backup now, and everything will be cool. Or they can keep pushing and that will just make trouble for everyone. I can't testify in court, but I think I can say the man at the precinct house who shot the Rabbi, he won't be around anymore. Most of the trouble from lately should be settled soon."

"You know, I don't like being threatened. I could have your home searched just with the evidence before us."

"You could. It would really inconvenience me. That's why I'm talking to you. I also know you'll get stuck with any case having to do with nonreproducible factors. You know how some such cases have gone."

"Nonreproducible factors," was the term Detective Bishop used in his e-mails he thought were private to describe the supernatural. He was also Omaha's de-facto investigator of nonreproducible factor cases when they reared their heads, which was rare in Omaha, but always a really big problem for him when they did.

Detective Bishop also referred to nonreproducible factor cases where large numbers of police officers ended up dead as "Some such cases."

Detective Bishop went a bit pale.

"That's not a threat. I'm a good citizen. I also want to be clear, no police officer will be harmed by my hand and I will fight to keep all of you safe. I'm trying really hard to protect everybody. Most of the time, I'm successful. Lately, there has been some really bad stuff going on. I think I've dealt with the worst of it tonight." I continued.

"Then why don't you explain it all to me?"

"You know it can't work that way. I'm trying to give you an out. Make up an excuse for my friend with the GSW, go deal with real crime somewhere, let this all settle back down."

Detective Bishop clearly was thinking about it. I was thinking about a huge bunch of policemen storming my house. How Novi would respond. How every remaining player in town would see that as the opening move in a battle royale for the data. My family would be in the middle. There was lots of very incriminating stuff there. How many policemen would die when the elite strike teams of various magical powers slugged it out over the place and they were caught in the middle?

"I came when you called. I helped you when you asked. You may not know it, but I'm your friend. I'm trying really hard to help you. To save lives. Please help me."

"Why should I?"

"There are some of the worst some such actors ever in town, right now, ready to go off. If we do something rash. If we don't handle it just right. They will. With recent actions, I've created a window to get this all settled quietly. Maybe. But I need space. Let me."

"I could just call out a battalion of police, maybe some National Guard too. Have emergency vehicles and fire trucks there as well. Barricade your home, and send in every SWAT trooper in the region. If there really are major some such actors in play, it would be very nice to bring some of them to justice." Detective Bishop speculated.

"These are not the sort of some such actors that will end up being brought in. They'll do a lot of some such work to your SWAT teams and my family. I'm trying to prevent that. Please help me. Please be smart." I replied, putting my maximum natural sincerity into my final words.

I could tell the good Detective was on the fence, so I unleashed my trump card.

"The Rebbetzin will vouch for me."

That settled it.

"Will you explain it all to me at a later time?"

"In hypotheticals, perhaps as a fictional story."

"Anything else?"

"Maybe you could leave some uniforms guarding Travis? That would discourage the riff raff."

"We'll have officers waiting to question him, so he'll be under guard. You won't stay here too?"

"No, I have more business to settle. Get all this to quiet back down."

Detective Bishop nodded. He got up, went, talked to the other officers and all but a couple left.

About an hour later, Miranda and Yumi turned up.

"Any news?" Miranda asked me.

I gave her a brief, chaste hug and said, "Nothing yet."

Miranda went and talked to the desk nurse. Then she came back. "He's in surgery right now. That's all they know. When they know something, they said they'd come tell us."

Yumi and I nodded then hugged Miranda again. Then we all sat on the seats to wait.

I looked at Yumi, "Can you call home?"

Yumi nodded and dialed. Tamar picked up, "Good Evening."

"How are all of you?"

"We're fine. Yael is fine."

"Thank-you. How is the girl doing?"

"She's unconscious. Exhaustion, borderline dehydration. Kelly has glucose and saline IVs in her and she's resting. I think she's fine otherwise."

"Hi, how is Sam doing?" I asked.

"Kelly is working on him. Lot's of big tears, holes and scratches, but he seems okay. He's unconscious though." Tamar answered.

"Great, I'll work on it from here." I replied.

I then used Yumi's smartphone to access the Paranet. I asked around if anyone knew how to contact the White Council if one had an injured White Council wizard on one's hands. Eventually, the phone in my hand rang.

"Hello, we understand you have an injured White Council wizard?" The female voice asked, with a strangely foreign lilt. Seemed Italian.

"Yes. We're rendering aid in a safe place. However, we thought you would want to know."

"Are you planning to demand some sort of ransom?" The female voice asked.

"No, but I believe he was here on a mission. I can help you with that too."

"Do you have some sort of price?" The clearly very suspicious female voice responded.

"No, but I could make one up if it would make you feel more comfortable?" I replied with a bit of snark.

"So, we are to believe you are doing all this out of kindness?" She asked, also a bit frustrated.

"Essentially, yes. Also, a desire for peace and friendship. Seems like some big favors I'm doing for you, maybe you could be a little grateful and friendly?"

"What exactly do you mean by 'grateful and friendly?'" She asked.

I suppose I should have seen that one coming.

"Why don't you come by my home in an hour or so and find out? Is that too quick? Will it take you longer to get there?"

"No, we will be there in, as you say, 'an hour or so.'" She acknowledged and hung up.

I handed the phone back to Yumi and asked, "Can I have your car keys?"

She dished the keys up and I reminded her not to take an Uber or Taxi. "I'll send someone over to get you if need be. Maybe Jake."

I took the red Subaru Forester home.

I got inside and parked in the garage. As I got out of the car, I was greeted by a hug from Tamar. That made it all worth it.

"We're going to have guests from the White Council," I informed her, then to the air, "Novi?"

Novi walked through the nearest door, "We're having guests. Please put together some food that we can offer. They won't eat, so don't waste a lot of money."

I got a fast shower and changed into some better things that weren't torn or smelly.

I was just putting on a fresh pair of shoes, the cream ones I had worn in Chicago the year before, when our front doorbell rang.

"Jake, please come with me." I said and went to greet our guests.

We walked down to the gate to find there was an attractive woman, in her late twenties waiting there. She was wearing a very fashionable black leather coat, probably Fendi. She was also wearing a pair of small, round completely opaque sunglasses in a wire frame. Her hands were in her pockets. A pair of shapely calves extended from the bottom of the coat clad in silk, not nylon, stockings if I didn't miss my guess, and I am something of an expert on the subject. The calves ended in feet that were inserted in black leather three-inch heels.

Behind her was a larger, older grizzled gentleman. He was wearing a brown leather duster, black hat and was carrying a staff in his right hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The staff was all black, perhaps it was made of ebony or obsidian. He wasn't offering it to me to examine so it could have been plastic for all I knew.

I opened my gate and extended my hand, "Dr Jack Fox."

The woman extended her gloved hand and lightly grasped mine in a perfunctory shake, "Anastasia Luccio at your service."

"Please come in and enjoy the hospitality of my home." I replied bowing slightly and gesturing to let them in.

I could have given them a hard time, but I knew who they were and also knew I wasn't being bamboozled.

They entered. They had two others with them with light oak staves one in tan and one in cream-colored cloth coats. I expected they were the medicos.

First, I led them to our clinic.

The two light colored ones immediately went to look over Sam. I was a little annoyed with how they ignored the girl. There was some wordless nodding among all four of them, then Luccio turned back to me, "They will take him for further treatment."

Not, "May they," or "Could they."

"Of course," I granted the permission they didn't want to request politely.

The light-colored ones produced a self-propelled gurney from nowhere and magically lifted Sam onto it very gently. They then hustled him out.

Once they were on their way, Luccio turned back to me, "There was also the matter of his mission?"

"Please, this way." I said, leading them to my forge office.

I offered them the seats in the office, they declined and remained standing.

"Novi, please bring some refreshments?" I asked the air.

Novi then brought in a tray of various hors d'oeuvres along with a bucket of those little bottles of fizzy apple juice. She was wearing a white jacket appropriate for a waiter over a black pleated skirt. Strangely, her legs were otherwise attired very similarly to our guest's. After setting down the tray, she left demurely.

"Please help yourselves," I offered as I helped myself to a quick bite.

Unsurprisingly, they declined.

I said, "Suit yourselves."

Then I went and opened the safe. I took out the computer and all the chips that had ever had any part of the data on them. I put them on the desk.

"Help yourself. All the data is on there." I said gesturing to the computer then continued, "All the data had resided on another computer, but I destroyed that one very decisively and couldn't take the corpse. I have moved some bits of the data onto these other drives, but not from them to anything else. I can assure you, that as far as I know, you're secrets are safe. I have also come up with what I feel is an elegant solution to help assure you that your data is safe."

"Oh, what is that?" Luccio asked.

"You hire my firm to help with your computer security." I replied.

"Why should we do that?" Luccio replied.

"It's not blackmail. I won't do anything later if you don't. You have there all the copies of the data that still exist and all the working, and some not working devices that have held it.

"When I'm not having to deal with the magical world, my day job is providing this sort of security for large financial firms. Essentially, similar to what you do. As someone who already has a foot in your world, you know I would understand you far better than any other firm out there.

"Further, if I wasn't trustworthy, this data could have been up for auction all over the world by now and I could have easily sold it to not only the highest bidder, but every bidder.

"I don't need your money. I would like your friendship and protection. Having given you this data back, I will still be under attack by every one of your enemies and rivals. I can protect myself to an extent, but it would be useful to me if others knew that attacking me was attacking an adjunct of the White Council. Further, this incident proves that you need exactly the sort of help I provide. You need to come up with a solution or it's only a matter of time before this happens again."

I could see the old man was moving to blast the computer.

"You probably want to keep that computer intact." I said and that brought him up short.

I went and got a large wood box I had lying about the shop, sufficient to hold the computer and thumb drives. Then I carefully put them in and protected them with some packing material.

"That should make it a little easier to transport these devices home. Still, I know it will be difficult for you. You will want your experts to verify what I have told you by examining the devices. I regret that I must inform you they will not be able to confirm everything I've told you because some of the small drive devices have been destroyed. Only small amounts of data were on those small devices, but I know that will be a frustration for you."

"So how can we confirm that all the stolen data is accounted for. No copies have been made and distributed?" Luccio asked.

"You can't. The only complete copy of the data is on the computer. Only small amounts ever went on the drives. Some drives work and you will be able to confirm the data never left the drives. Some don't, and those will not be confirmable. You'll have to accept my word. I know that makes you uncomfortable. However, even if you tortured me, you could not bring those drives back from the dead." I answered, knowing they wouldn't like it.

"Why would you put some data and the 'small drives' as you call them?" Luccio asked, frustrated.

"I was trying to use the data as part of a tracking spell. To find the thief." I answered.

"Yes, do you know anything of the whereabouts of this thief?" Luccio asked.

"You saw her, she's in my clinic." I replied.

"We should want custody of her for questioning." Luccio announced.

"That won't be possible. When she's ready, I'll be willing to arrange a polite meeting for questions and answers, but she belongs to me." I replied firmly. That got the old man's attention.

"Another paramour for you? What if we demanded her?" Luccio asked with a bit of disdain.

"She is a member of my household now and we will fight to protect her. In fact, we already have, twice. The one's we fought are quite a distinguished list." I replied.

I could tell Luccio was getting ready for another retort when she was interrupted by the older gentleman with the black staff, "This is a pretty nice forge you got here. Very well equipped. You use it much?"

"Yes, I'm a man of many talents and interests." I replied with a smile.

The old man turned and spoke to Jake, "That sword you have over your shoulder son, do you mind if I ask you where you got it?"

I turned and looked at Jake, he looked at me questioningly, I nodded.

Jake looked back at the older man and said, "From him."

The older man looked at me and said, "May I ask how you came into possession of that sword?"

With all the aplomb I could muster I replied, "I forged it here."

"You made that sword?" The older wizard asked, clearly a bit surprised.

"Yes, I did forge it. All by myself. Here. With only the help from Providence above." I replied still smiling.

The older man nodded and gestured to the box. "For now, we will take this and leave. We will consider your offer. The White Council is grateful to you for your service and for caring for Warden Levine."

Luccio was a bit surprised by the older man's actions but played along. We nodded heads. They took the box. We walked them back to the front entrance and saw them out.

Jake and I walked back in.

As we walked, Jake turned and asked me, "Why did they back down?"

"They recognized your sword and what it meant. The older one probably knew he didn't want to tangle with that tonight." I replied.

"Why tonight?" Jake asked.

"You need to read you're Book of Esther. That sword has already been victorious once tonight. That means you have something of a warrant for at least the evening, maybe longer. They won't want to tangle with that unless they have no choice." I explained.

"What do you mean?" Jake asked more confused.

"The power in that sword comes, essentially, from Heaven. Which means, I think you already understand, you must be very careful how you use it. You must use it the way you would think He would want you to, not selfishly or cruelly. Yes, when you take the sword into combat, you must fight with all your skill and ability. However, if Heaven wants you to win, nothing can defeat you. If Heaven doesn't want, no skill, magic, power, wealth, experience, etc. can bring you victory."

Jake nodded with some understanding. So, I continued.

"I happen to know who those two who came here were. In a fair fight, they would mop the floor with all of us put together on our best day. But fights are never a certain thing and if He wants you to win, you'll win. The fact you won tonight means He will very likely want you to win again if things started again here with them. The older wizard knew that. He recognized that sword. It's like has not graced the Earth for a very long time."

"Okay, I get that. But why did you offer to help them with their data security?" Jake asked.

It was a reasonable question, so I answered, "If we can make an alliance with the White Council, that will deter some, but not all. If we can show, and we are, that we are a power unto ourselves the likes of which the world hasn't seen in centuries, that will deter many as well. If we can show all, that would be best. Do you think I'm missing anything?"

Jake thought over what I said for a moment and replied, "What about those who will not be deterred?"

"There will always be those. For them, we must be prepared." I replied.

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	25. Chapter 25

**Warlock of Omaha Cubed**

 **Chapter 25: Making Amends**

After speaking with Jake, I took myself to our clinic.

Tamar and Kelly helped me undress. I wasn't as messed up as Sam or Travis, but I had taken a beating. Another beating. Again.

I lay down on a gurney and Kelly started patching me up. I had a lot of holes and cuts. This time, unlike after the mausoleums, the bugs had not disappeared. Kelly had to dig them out with some forceps and a scalpel. I don't want to ask for unearned sympathy, it hurt, a lot, but was hardly the worst thing that had ever happened to me. She collected the small bronze nibs the bugs had become when White Man died.

I felt something really bad from the bronze bits.

"What's the deal with those bits?" I asked.

"Yes, they are cursed with a malevolent infection, magic poison." Oholiab explained.

"Have I been infected?" I asked nervously.

"Nope, they've been dug out, but the bronze bullets should be destroyed." Oholiab replied.

"Kelly, do you have the bronze bits from Sam?" I asked.

"Yes, I do." She replied.

"Make sure you put them all in a metal container. Get a pot with a lid from the kitchen if you have to. They're toxic, I need to dispose of them." I asked.

Is it dangerous for me to handle them?" Kelly asked.

"Probably not, as long as they're not inside you, but use gloves." I suggested.

"I'll get right on it." Tamar said, I hadn't realized she was still there.

"Thanks!" I yelled to Tamar as I heard her feet running up the stairs and the door opening and closing.

I called Detective Bishop while Kelly worked on me. It was probably getting to be close to five am.

"Okay, what do you want now?" Detective Bishop asked. From his voice, I could tell he was simultaneously suffering under stress and lack of sleep.

"I need another favor." I replied.

"Another, this will be good." The previously unflappable façade of Detective Bishop was showing cracks of snarkiness.

"Yeah, they would have pulled some brass bits out of Travis Horn." I explained.

"They did. Should I ask how you know this?" Detective Bishop replied.

"Probably not. They may have also found some brass bits around the burned down area at Vala's." I said.

"They did. Which begs a question of whether you and Mr. Horn were present at Vala's when the fire started and might know something about it." Detective Bishop answered.

"Good. I need you to get all the bits from both places. Very carefully, using thick gloves, put them in a metal container, and bring them to me." I instructed.

"You do know those bits are evidence in two crime scenes?" Detective Bishop asked.

"Both of which will never really be solved. I suggest drunken teenagers for Vala's and made a mistake with fireworks for Travis." I replied.

"We can't just make…Oh why do I even. Why should I do this? Exactly?" Detective Bishop asked pointedly.

"Those bits are toxic poison bombs waiting to go off. People will get hurt, in lots of ugly ways, if we don't handle this." I explained.

"Oh, son of a bi…Fine, I'll see what I can do." Detective Bishop said with sick resignation.

"Remember, metal container, use gloves." I repeated.

"Yes, yes." Detective Bishop answered.

The next morning, still sore and with almost no sleep, I met Detective Bishop at a building on a remote satellite campus of Creighton University.

Detective Bishop met me in the remote lot. He was holding a metal jar with gloved hands.

"Good, good." I said, "Is that all of them?"

"Yes, may I ask what you plan to do with them?" Detective Bishop replied.

"I happen to know this building houses one of the largest incinerators in the region. We will use it to destroy these bits." I answered.

"Do you have access to this building?" Detective Bishop asked unwisely.

"Sort of." I answered.

We walked up to the locked door. I felt the lock, leaned on the right part, and the lock, now permanently scrambled, popped the door open.

I took both pots in my gloved hands, dropped them in a chute to the hottest part of the furnace, and let it close.

Then I went to another console. I could feel all the components through the surface of the console. I could identify all the components from my education and research. I leaned on one, which I knew, when it failed, would send the incinerator on a runaway. The incinerator would melt itself and the building would burn down.

"I think we should leave now." I said to Detective Bishop as I made sure none of the cameras would be able to give a record of what had happened here today.

"You don't say." Detective Bishop replied clearly disgusted.

"Welcome to my little group." I said with a smile.

It didn't take much effort to find Sam's broken Mustang at the Vala's lot. I had it towed to Jed's.

Unlike with Jake's bike, I did most of the work at Jed's with help from Jed, his son Larry and some of his more skilled crew people. What we found when we examined the car was that there just wasn't anything on the car that was salvageable. The frame and body were rusted through and bent to the point of danger. The engine was out of alignment and could not be rebuilt. The tires were bald and the brakes, all drum, were shot. Everything, even the glass was yellowed, scratched and cracked. I was surprised it moved. I was surprised it hadn't killed Sam already.

So, borrowing a move I had mastered in the fine art of gunsmithing, we built a new one from scratch.

Everything in the universe is available aftermarket for the Mustang. In great variety. I bought modern, high quality parts and they would become Sam's old car. I was careful to pick items that had benefitted from 21st century technology but were not, themselves, high tech. For example, we used a super-high strength steel frame as a base. No frame nearly that good would have existed in 1967. The frame reflected forty years of advancement in the metallurgical arts, but was itself, just a piece of formed steel. We mounted a cro-moly cage on top of the frame and attached the brand new, stainless steel and carbon fiber body panels to it. I added ceramic armor in many places, particularly in the doors and firewall.

The new engine we finally picked took some finding, the vast majority of modern performance engines have electronic control units or ECUs. We were eventually able to find a high-performance, eight-cylinder engine, once again representing in many ways 21st century technology, but without an ECU to fail. We tuned for reliability, not performance, but she still gave over 430 HP. Of course, she had the assistance of good suspension and six pot disc brakes all around.

We also gave a lot of credence to durability and toughness. She had a custom made 30-gallon fuel tank with racing baffles while still having military grade toughness and self-healing. Unlike the original 1967 Mustang whose fuel tank was almost as vulnerable as a Pinto's, the fuel tank was located in front of the rear axle under the back seat. It was also extra armored.

We couldn't do bullet proof glass in the doors, but she did get a front and rear-windshield.

I also paid attention to the inside. Six-way racing safety seats and a full set of sixties era amenities including a clock, stereo and air-conditioning. I used my new magic protection tricks on many systems to help them tolerate Sam. The stereo looked like a traditional stereo but was really a modern electronic device. It would be interesting to see how it fared with regular exposure to Sam.

I didn't use anything authentic, just good reproductions. The odds that Sam would end up trashing the car made fixing it up fancy seem like a waste.

Overall, the car was not built to be super-fast. I used components to make it tough, durable and able to take a hit, like heavy-duty steel bumpers front and back. Still, she had the ponies and the suspension, so she was quick.

We gave her a paint job reminiscent of my truck's. It was royal navy blue so dark it was almost black. I hoped the indistinct and complicated color would leave many witnesses wondering if it had been blue or black. I figured Sam would need that kind of feature as much as I did. The paint job was just settling when Sam showed up.

Between working on Sam's car and the roughly one million other little details that needed to be resolved, I spent a lot of time in the clinic on my property.

A battle like the one at Vala's might seem like a discreet experience, but it seemed like every second required hours and days after the fact. I tried to deal with some on a notebook as I sat beside the girl.

Now we knew her name, Dina Jeonju. We had run a modern genetic analysis, she was my daughter. I was quietly doing research on her. I knew her mother's name was Yuna Jeonju. I had some pictures and a handful of biographical details, but that was it. Try as I might to remember our meeting, I just couldn't. I hadn't been some super lothario. I had partied hard for several years and I'd had some success. I hadn't figured out seemings until after that part of my life for which I was glad. I'd like to think I wouldn't have abused seemings, but I do try to be honest with myself and there had been bad nights when I would have been sorely tempted.

Even without seemings, I'd had a fair amount of success. Sometimes I'd used protection and sometimes I hadn't. Were there other kids out there? That thought was scary like being Wiley E Coyote hanging out over the cliff, but, like Wiley, there was just nothing I could do about it.

I sat next to Dina. I had sat next to too many people like this. Too many had come to my little family this way. Jake hadn't come this way at least, but Travis and Tamar both had.

This was the moment when they were defenseless, and I had slipped in a mental probe, so I could keep track of what they were thinking. I chose not to do that to Dina, even though she would presumably be the one I could trust least later and would be the most dangerous to me. Now I knew it was wrong, and I couldn't do it to my child.

She lay on the gurney, unconscious, being nursed by Kelly. Her clothes, impossibly dirty, had been cut off and burned. She was wearing a hospital gown. Kelly and Tamar had cleaned her up as best they could.

There will a million little details to attend to. I've described some of them here, but it seemed for each second the fight at Vala's had lasted, there were hours of work after the fact to attend to. That didn't even begin to count all of my equipment that was now trashed and would have to be re-created.

So, I sat by Dina for hours on end. Sometimes I napped. Sometimes I sat quietly and thought. Mostly, I sat with a notebook and did various tasks.

Three days later, between tasks on the notebook, I looked up to see she was watching me.

"Good morning." I said simply.

She remained quiet.

"You're safe. You're in my home. We're doing our best to attend to your physical needs. You have been through a terrible ordeal, but you're safe now." I said.

She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Nineteen hours later, she woke again releasing a short yip of fear.

Once again, I looked at her and said, "You're safe. You're in my home. We're doing our best to attend to your physical needs. You have been through a terrible ordeal, but you're safe now."

She replied, in what I expect was her toughest negotiating voice, "So what's your game? I know what you want. No matter what you do, I'm not giving it up."

"If you're referring to the data you stole, you know full well that you lost it when the Omaha Police seized your notebook. As luck would have it, the Omaha Police called me to open the notebook. I'm probably one of the few people on the planet who could undo your lock. So, I already have the data." I explained.

Her eyes and mouth were wide open.

"Then why did you kidnap me?" She asked confused.

"Which time?" I replied and laughed a bit.

She seemed to want to smile but was still real nervous.

When she didn't speak for a bit, once again, I looked at her and said, "You're safe. You're in my home. We're doing our best to attend to your physical needs. You have been through a terrible ordeal, but you're safe now."

"I want to believe you, but I remember what you did at the hotel." She answered coldly, trying to sound tough.

"Tell me what you remember about the hotel?" I replied.

"I remember you and that other guy, kicking in my door, tasering my ass and carrying me away." She said.

"Yeah, that's mostly what happened." I replied.

"Not a lot of trust building there." She continued.

"I'm sure you were going to give me a long time to explain what was going on if I knocked. I'm sure if I tried to talk after we entered the room, you would have listened patiently. I'm sure you weren't going out that window into the park no matter what."

"And why shouldn't I have?" She asked defiantly. "Much better to just let you tie me up and drag me away for torture?"

So, I explained. "I know you heard the explosion a few minutes before we entered your room. Did you know that if you went through that window you would have been right between two supernatural heavy weight champs who were slugging it out to see which of them got to grab you first? That was the explosion. I have a pretty good idea what that thing who did get you did to you for the days he had you. Either one of those others got you, they would have been much worse, and there would have been no getting you back. You knew all that right?"

That got her to put her head down. Then I felt guilty.

"I'm sorry. Maybe there was a better way at the hotel than the one I came up with. If you're pissed, be pissed at me, not Travis. By the way, that's his name, he's also the one who took a bullet in the gut trying to rescue you. He's still in the hospital. But I was under a lot of pressure and didn't have much time and that's what I came up with on short notice. If you live long enough to be in a similar situation someday from the other side, I hope you figure out better."

"If you have my data, where is it?" She asked.

"That's just it, it wasn't really your data was it. Do you know what you had?" I asked.

"Yes I do, and I'm gonna sell it back to the highest bidder. Maybe back to the people I stole it from. Make me some cash. Enough to buy me some safety. Make those things back off." She explained, trying to be tough again.

"Well, sorry again. As I said before. I had your data. I already gave it back to the White Council. All gone now." I explained.

"What! You can't be serious!" She shrieked, then her voice changed to canny, like she thought she had me figured out, "If you really did give the data back. Why didn't they demand me too?"

"They did, but, basically, I told them I wasn't giving you up and if they tried to take you, we'd throw down. They backed down. They will be coming back. I promised they could talk to you politely at an undisclosed later date." I explained.

"You expect me to believe they backed down to you?" She asked disbelieving.

"We had just killed that thing. We looked pretty tough for a minute." I answered.

"My plan would have worked much better. You're such an idiot." She answered coldly.

"You've made some poor choices lately. You stole something that you had no idea how most of the supernatural world would respond to. Nobody was going to pay you a penny for that data. They would have eventually hunted you down, dragged you away, and then kept you alive for millennia of torture. Even if they were completely sure you had nothing, on the off chance they were wrong, they'd have kept up the torture. Except for the White Council, they had a guy here in town, hours away from getting you himself, he just had orders to kill you.

"I was trying to rescue you, but you jumped out of my car into the hands of one of the best torturers in the universe."

"So, if all these bad asses wanted me so much, how did you find me first?" She asked, clearly thinking she'd found a whole in my story.

"I knew more than they did. I knew what to look for. Mostly though, because I had an edge." I answered cryptically, trying to keep her talking.

"What edge?" She asked in the same prosecutor's voice.

"Same reason I wanted to rescue you. I'm your Father." I answered.

That shut her up for about a second and then she said, "Now I just know you're lying."

"Oh, why is that?" I asked.

"Every foster kid always dreams their missing parent is some powerful rich person who is just trying to find them, so they can rescue them. Eventually, if we're smart, we realize they're not and they aint coming so we had best do for ourselves." She answered, her hard crust clearly showing.

I wondered if there was any way I could break through? Maybe she had been too victimized for too long? Maybe whatever opening there had been left had been sealed by whatever unspeakable things White Man had done to her. Maybe when I failed to keep her in that truck I had lost her forever? Maybe it would have been better if I had died on that road trying to save her?

"You really feel that way?" She asked astonished.

At that moment I realized she'd slipped a probe into my mind. I cut it off.

"That's not playing fair. Yes, I do. I didn't know about you till just a few days ago or I would have come for you much sooner. I am your Father. When you feel ready, you may leave. We'll give you clothes, food, money, whatever you need. I'll charter a jet for you. Go where you will. Or you can stay here with us for as long as you like. I think you'll find Omaha a bit boring, but my home is comfortable, the food is good, and we have strong internet."

"If you don't want the data? What do you want?" She asked confused.

"I would like to hear about your Mother. I know a little bit about her. Her name was Yuna Jeonju, she was a dancer. What happened to her?" I asked.

She leaned back, as if thinking about whether to answer, after a moment she seemed to decide. "She was a dancer, but not very successful, too short. Not the right color, before it was all cool to be all multi-cultural. She made a little extra pocket money on the side being a model. She was working a SEMA show. Said she met a guy she thought was rich, cute and dumb. They partied. He gave her his number and went back to podunkville. She couldn't even remember where you lived, but I could see why she'd think Omaha was podunkville. She ditched your number in the parking lot, like she would ever move to podunkville. Two months later, she found out she was pregnant and there was, like, nothing she could remember about you to find you.

"She did her best raising me. Made sure I went to good schools, got good grades, but then she got sick. Too many steroids and hard partying when she was young. Died when I was 11.

"We didn't have any family, so that meant I went into the system. Only people who want teenage girls want them for one reason. The second asshole they stuck me with who tried to come in my bedroom and grope me, I decided I'd had enough. I stole his laptop and some cash. Never looked back."

As soon as she had said, "SEMA," Yuna snapped back into my mind. She'd been a booth babe. I'd successfully seduced her the old-fashioned way, appearing rich, trying to be charming. We had partied, as I had with many others. Most of the one night stands I had that way didn't want to give me their number but would have accepted mine, which I would have offered in the hopes of a repeat performance. I was willing to buy alcohol, but not hard drugs. I know that was a disappointment to many of the girls I partied with, Yuna was probably one of those.

"I would like you to stay with me for a while. There would be no trying to come into your room for groping. I have pretty comfortable digs. Food's good. Lots of internet. As I said, there will be no bars on your window. Leave when you wish.

"You should understand, the average person can't remember who stole the NSA's secrets of few years ago. The things that want the data you stole, they never, ever forget. They will be paying attention to your every move for the rest of your life. Maybe, if you live long enough, you'll grow strong enough that they won't attack the second they get a chance. Right now, you walk out my front door, you shouldn't expect to last as many minutes as you have fingers." I tried to explain.

She interrupted me with a howl, "But I don't even have the data anymore! Why would they still want me for anything?"

I interrupted back, "They don't _know_ you don't have the data. They're probably pretty sure you don't have the data, but they don't know! There is no way to make them know. They will hunt you on the off chance that maybe, somewhere, you stashed a copy. Or maybe, they figure you might have looked at something. They can take your mind apart bit by bit to see everything you have ever seen and get a nice picture of anything you might have seen. Kidnapping and torturing you costs them next to nothing right now. The only way they ever back off is if you can make it cost something. Enough so the off chance is worth less than the trouble.

"I think you can imagine living in a poor, gang ridden neighborhood. If word got out that you had stolen a Visa Cash Card with a million dollars on it. Even if it was clear you turned the card into the police, would the gangs ever leave you in peace? Or, on the off chance you still had a chunk of the cash, they would hunt you relentlessly. If they got you, they would torture you as best they knew how until you died in the chance you might give something up.

"What you call 'the wiggly,' and I might call the magical world is a bad neighborhood, full of incredibly powerful hoodlums who know how to keep someone alive, literally, for millennia, never stopping the torture.

"Still. I don't want you to stay here for fear. This is a place where there are people, particularly me, who care about you. I want you to stay for that reason. Please stay."

Then she looked up at me, gave me a funny crooked smile and said, "I guess I could stay for a while."

Rabbi Kaitzman got out of the hospital about two weeks after the events at Vala's. He had strict Doctor's orders NOT to be too active, so he would continue to heal. Two days later, he was back in the hospital again for another three days. Guess why?

When he came home the second time, after a few days, I made my way over to pay my respects.

The door was answered by the Rebbetzin, "What can we do for you?" She asked a bit suspiciously.

"I've come to pay a bikur cholim visit to the Rebbe." I replied, which was a formula Oholiab explained would get me through the door.

"What's 'bikur cholim?'" I had asked.

"There is a divine commandment to visit the sick and injured. The Rebbetzin will have to let you in if you invoke that." Oholiab explained.

"Why do I call him 'Rebbe?'" I had also asked.

"It's a term of greater respect than calling him Rabbi. It also presumes a relationship. I also know it's popular with folks in his community." Oholiab explained.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yeah, bring food." Of course, how Jewish.

So, I stood before the Rebbetzin with a large Styrofoam case of kosher meat I was sure they would accept.

The Rebbetzin relented and showed me to the dining room. She took the case from me. I could see into the kitchen that she had one of her well trained teenage daughters put the meat away.

The Rebbetzin brought out a tray with a small bowl of egg salad, another of tuna salad and a plate of fresh home-made bread. There was also a bowl of peeled potatoes and a pitcher of water. I didn't mean to eat, but I quickly found myself devouring all the prepared food.

"Why does this simple food taste so good?" I wondered.

"The Rebbetzin knows how to cook so it nourishes more than just your body. There are parts of you that are starving, and you don't even realize it." Oholiab explained.

"You will have to explain that more later." I said with great certainty.

"I will, don't worry." Oholiab replied with a smile in his voice.

After I finished the repast and had to exert extreme self-discipline not to lick the bowls clean, I spent another hour sitting at the table, mostly fiddling with my phone.

I did take a moment to ask Oholiab, "What's the deal with the Black Court Vampire and the Rebbetzin in the parking lot? Why did he spontaneously combust?"

"Ah, that's very simple." Oholiab began, "Do you see the doorway to the kitchen over there?"

"Yes," I replied wondering what a doorway had to do with Black Court Vampires exploding.

"You see what they have mounted there?" Oholiab asked.

Oholiab's Socratic method of teaching was already annoying me. "Yes, it's a Mezuzah. I have those all over my house as well. They cost about a hundred dollars each and with all my doorways, that added up. But it made Tamar happy."

"You should listen to Tamar, she's a smart woman. Those Mezuzahs are a special gift God gave the Jewish people. They protect us. Even when we're not at home."

"So that means…" I was desperately hoping he would get to the point.

"You know how homes have, what you would call a 'Threshold?'" Oholiab kept doubling down.

"Yes." I answered trying and failing not to be impatient.

"What do you think creates that threshold?" Oholiab asked.

I had never actually asked that question. It was actually a very good question. "I don't know?" I replied.

"Good answer. Everything in the world can be used for good and holy reasons or for evil and profane ones. A gun can be holy when used to protect, it can also be evil if used to murder. A Temple can be a lair for a pedophile. A home can have a family filled with love.

"Having a home. Raising a family. These are holy things all by themselves. They invite in God and that repels evil, unnatural things.

"The Mezuzah is like an engraved invitation. It grants an even greater Divine Presence which dramatically increases the power of the so called, 'threshold.' Further, the protection doesn't stop at the door. It travels with whoever has a mezuzah on their door. That vampire didn't realize what he was dealing with until he had taken a step too far." Oholiab explained.

"So why don't I get this protection?" I asked a bit disgruntled, thinking about times when it would have been really good to have it and I definitely didn't get it.

"First of all, it depends a lot on what kind of person you are. You're mostly a potz, whereas the Rebbetzin has dedicated her life to helping others, she's a holy woman. Also, you meddle in things you shouldn't. Part of the protection comes from carefully staying away from abominations like fortune telling and necromancy." Oholiab explained.

"That's why she didn't see the vampire. She just naturally avoids dealing with things like necromancy." I figured out.

"Exactly." Oholiab confirmed.

I was feeling a little sad, like I was a failure. I hadn't been trying to be a bad person, but compared to someone like the Rebbetzin, it was clear how poorly I had been doing.

"Yisroela," Oholiab began, "do you think it was just a coincidence the Rebbetzin was in the parking lot with you?"

Just as I was putting together the pieces of that last statement, the Rebbetzin came back. "Come with me, he'll see you now."

I followed the Rebbetzin into the living room where Rabbi Kaitzman was sitting.

"Yisroel!" He called out to me, it was the name he always called me. His voice was strong and hearty, though he was sitting under a comforter on a recliner with a table full of medicine next to him. He held a book of religious philosophy called the "Gur Aryeh" in his hands that he had been studying before I came in.

"I like his choice of study material. I helped write that." Oholiab said.

Rabbi Kaitzman continued in the same hearty voice, "Welcome, I'm glad you came to visit.

"Nice to see you're feeling better." I said as I came and sat on the couch next to him.

We made pleasantries for a while, but eventually he said, "I sense you have something you wish to discuss."

I felt very awkward, but brought myself to say, "It's about the young man who shot you."

"Yes, he must be a terrible criminal, stalking police stations and shooting people. It was lucky we stopped him before he got anyone else." The Rabbi answered.

"Well, it's not exactly like that." I answered feeling even more nervous and cagey. I was essentially admitting to felony aiding and abetting with what I wanted to say.

"What do you mean Yisroel?" The Rabbi asked with a confused look.

"The young man is not mine. I did not send him there. I definitely did not ask him to shoot you or anybody else. However, I do know him, and I have a big request." I tried to explain.

"What sort of request?" The Rabbi asked.

"He wants to come here and ask for your forgiveness. He says it was an accident and I believe him." I answered.

"That's quite an accident." Rabbi Kaitzman replied, reasonably concerned.

"The young man, Shmuel, lives in my world. The Rebbetzin may have explained?" I began.

"Yes, she did." Rabbi Kaitzman replied listening carefully. I knew the Rebbetzin was on the other side of the louvre door to the dining room listening too.

"He's a sort of policeman. Still very young. He was given a mission that was probably too important for him. However, if he failed, enormous numbers of people could have been hurt. He was also under terrible time pressure. If he didn't succeed fast enough, many others were also sent, by others who were not so nice, to try and get what he sought." I explained.

"I see." Rabbi Kaitzman answered.

"I appreciate that you rescued me and completed my mission." Sam said to me at Jed's garage.

"Well, you did save our lives first." I replied.

"Yeah, I guess I did." He said thinking it through.

"I took a bit and fixed up your car as a sort-of thank you." I explained, showing him the Mustang.

"Oh, you didn't…Oh my goodness!" Sam said as the rebuilt Mustang was revealed.

After letting him look around the car for a few minutes, I particularly showed him the engine, had him turn it over and hear the beefy sound it made. I also showed him the docs in the glove compartment. Everything was registered for warranty. Registration and insurance had been paid for three years. Sam had also left most of his things behind, including his expired license. A new license and passport, courtesy of Jim, were in there as well. His destroyed junk gear was in the trunk. His sword was still in good shape though.

After a few moments, when all the excitement had settled for a moment. I sat in the passenger seat next to him.

"I have to ask you a question." I began.

"I think I know what about." Sam answered clearly not happy with what was coming.

"Why did you shoot Rabbi Kaitzman?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you were gonna ask." He replied.

"Well?"

Sam hit the steering wheel with the side of his right hand, then smacked his head on it as well for good measure. I waited patiently.

"It was a total clusterfuck." Sam began. "I was using a veil to get into the station. I was pretty sure what I was looking for was in there. Something hit me just when I was off balance in the stairwell, trying to stay out of the way. My veil snapped off in that second. Right in front of the Rabbi and the policeman. I pulled my gun for self-defense, maybe to threaten my way out. I didn't even mean to pull the trigger. It was all a mistake. I was so nervous, I was holding the gun too tight. It went off."

Clearly Sam didn't know the safety rule about not putting one's finger on the trigger until ready to shoot.

I explained to Rabbi Kaitzman, "He went to the police station to try and get back what was lost. He made a mistake. I know it was a very serious mistake. You could have been killed. It was a great tragedy. I can personally vouch that he has learned his lesson. I will take it in hand personally to see that he is trained so this sort of thing doesn't happen again."

Rabbi Kaitzman put his chin in his hand and clearly took a few moments to think, while I was sitting there on pins and needles.

Eventually, Rabbi Kaitzman announced, "I will forgive him, but on one condition…"

I nodded when he was done and went to the front door. I waved, and Sam came in.

Sam came in nervously. He approached the Rabbi nervously. The Rabbi gestured Sam down and gave him a hug.

"Do better next time!" The Rabbi admonished Sam.

"I promise, I will!" Sam replied.

The Rabbi's condition was that my family had to start attending Sabbath morning services more frequently.

The second time I attended, I became aware they were trying to replace their somewhat shabby and badly laid out building.

I reviewed their lame plans. We had a sit down. I brought in my Monolithic Dome architect. We came up with something much better.

They had raised, maybe ten percent of the funds they needed for their lame plan. My plans would be about twice as expensive. There was a simple solution.

The new synagogue would be named for my parents, the Abe and Yael Foxman Chabad Center of Omaha.

When all was said and done, I went home. I washed, being very careful of my new wounds. Then I went to bed and was welcomed to bed by my wife Tamar who then knew me in the biblical sort of way. Then I slept and I had no dreams.

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